tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3880146153398901782024-03-07T16:48:53.596-06:00Bass Blogby Michael HovnanianMichael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.comBlogger287125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-76661025387874932012020-05-13T22:19:00.000-05:002020-05-13T22:19:16.900-05:00Bottesini Method, part 2<br />
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<i>What is a position?</i></div>
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The Simandl and Nanny methods were the books I learned from as a beginner. Later, when I felt the need to start over from scratch, I consulted the four volumes by Ludwig Streicher. Common to all three of those methods (and probably many others) is the fixed system of positions that inch up the fingerboard by half steps. Beginning from what Simandl calls the 'half position' the fingers 1, 2 and 4 are used exclusively, although there are some minor disagreements as to when the 3rd finger replaces the fourth near the octave point. Each method begins with the lowest position ('half position', Simandl) and incrementally works up the fingerboard. Simandl takes about thirty pages to climb up to the 6th position. Streicher devotes an entire volume to open strings and half position before setting out from base camp to reach the snowy, rosin-capped summit three volumes later.<br />
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For me, the numbered positions are something like the training wheels I once had on my bicycle -- in the beginning they were necessary until it was safe to abandon them in a corner of the garage. For a while thereafter they were something of an embarrassment before achieving their apotheosis as an object of nostalgia. As a young student, each step higher on the chromatic ladder brought me to a new numbered position, and with it a sense of achievement. “What position are you up to?” was something we students often asked each other to determine who was a good player. The poor fellow still struggling with the second position was an object of scorn, or of pity, to those of us who had safely gone on to the third or beyond. Recently, I'm embarrassed to say, I had to look up the positions, having forgotten them long ago.<br />
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The numbering system for positions in the Simandl method seems to be based on the natural minor scale. I believe the reasoning behind this was once explained to me, but I've since forgotten that as well. The arbitrary numbering of positions, and 'half' positions are what made it difficult for me to remember them. Nanny's method uses a slightly different numbering system, as illustrated by the wonderful diagram above. Ascending mostly by whole steps, it also includes the more logical scheme of numbering the positions by degree of the chromatic scale.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The first six positions of Simandl</i></td></tr>
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As any student discovers rather quickly, using the 1-2-4 fingering system, where the distance between the 1st and 4th finger always spans a whole step, it is impossible to play a diatonic scale in any one position above the first without shifting. The Bottesini method differs radically from those cited by quickly introducing the student to the entire range of the instrument to be covered by the method. Within about five pages, Bottesini takes us from open strings to the G-harmonic, an octave above the open string, which is a far as he is going by the end of the volume. With the emphasis on scales and melodic material, Bottesini incorporates shifting throughout the range of the instrument from the outset.<br />
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The modern player might be immediately startled by Bottesini's fingering system. After a perfunctory page covering the open strings the first exercises for the left hand begin. Only the 1st and 4th fingers are employed at first.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1st and second positions</i></td></tr>
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It is interesting to note that after these first examples, he never refers to numbered positions again.<br />
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Eventually, a fingering scheme of 1-3-4 is introduced, but this differs radically from the systems of Simandl, Nanny, <i>et al.</i> In the first position, whole steps and half steps are both fingered 1-4. From the second position and higher the 3rd finger is gradually introduced for some half steps, although 1-4 is used more often, particularly on the lower strings. If there is some rule about when a half step is taken with the third or fourth finger, I have yet to discover it.<br />
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As always, delving into the work of Bottesini makes the us come face to face with the most pressing questions of our era. In this case the question is, what is a position? For Simandl, Nanny, & co. the answer is obvious, due to the consistent 1-2-4 fingering system. In any position where those three fingers are used exclusively, each finger has exactly one correct placement in each position. The same can be said of the thumb, resting behind the neck, which moves from one position to another in a fixed relationship to the other fingers. By contrast, Bottesini invites us to be flexible. In (his) second position, on the A-string, the first finger takes B-natural, while C-natural can be taken with either the third or fourth finger. Looked at another way, in the second position, the fourth finger can have two proper placements, on C-natural, or C-sharp. In Simandl, a 4th finger C-natural (A-string) can only be in half position. In Bottesini's method, it could either be in first or second position.<br />
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In the process of acquainting myself with Bottesini's fingering system, I spent a quite bit of time on the first few pages, wrapping my brain and my fingers around the half steps taken with the first and fourth fingers. To feel comfortable in the crimped position, I found myself holding the thumb a bit higher, opposite the first finger (or even higher) rather than my normal position, wherein the thumb resides more or less opposite the second finger. The new hand position felt uncomfortable only in that it was something different. In fact, alternately stretching and contracting the hand felt strangely liberating. With the fingers all out of their usual positions, relying more heavily on the ear than on the hand position was revelatory, as much as it was also sobering.</div>
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Anxious as I was to begin climbing the ladder, tackling the more interesting and difficult material to come. A couple lines of text made me stop dead in my tracks. In the middle of a section of brief exercises 'in all keys', where he moves to the flat keys, Bottesini writes: “The pupil will understand that the object of these exercises is to accustom him to keep his thumb perfectly still.” Somewhat confusingly, this instruction appears after exercises in F major, D minor, and B flat major, and it is unclear whether it applies to what is above or below the text. Here is the exercise in D minor, notable for the first use of the third finger in the method.</div>
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This appears to be all in the second position, so leaving the thumb in place conforms to the Simandl/Nanny idea of position. However, directly below the text is this exercise in G minor.</div>
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<i>First or second position?</i></div>
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Right away there is a conundrum. Is this first or second position? First finger on A-natural implies second position, while using it on the E-flat says first. Was Bottesini asking us to shift position without moving the thumb (Apostasy!), or is this all to be considered as one position?<br />
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At the bottom of the page (clearly referring to the exercise above since the next page went on to something else) Bottesini again felt the need to add: The pupil will take care not to move his thumb in getting to the A flat on the G string.</div>
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After some head scratching, it dawned on me that I had yet to fully free myself from the shackles of the old position system I studied as a beginner. Initially, tackling Bottesini's unfamiliar fingerings, I held onto the idea that to be in a 'position', one of the fingers needed to be fixed in place. Since the early examples had both whole steps and half steps fingered 1-4, I erroneously made the assumption that the placement of the first finger defined the 'position' while the fourth finger could stretch to a whole step or contract to a semi tone. The text and examples cited above finally made me realize that the first finger could move within a position as well.<br />
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To be fair, these conclusions are my own extrapolations of what I found in the text. Bottesini doesn't appear to be concerned with the idea of positions in the same way as Simandl or Nanny. He barely mentions them near the beginning of the method before dropping them altogether after about the first ten pages. However, from the numbered fingerings, as well as the admonishments not to move the thumb, it seems clear to me that there is some underlying idea of being in a 'position', however vague that might be.<br />
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Based on what I had encountered to that point, I came up with the following first and second 'positions'. </div>
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Since the pitches A-B-C, fingered 0-1-4, could be in either first or second position, the defining characteristic had to be the position of the thumb. The first position would be with the thumb closest to the nut, and the in the second, the thumb would be somewhat farther away.</div>
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Upon turning the page and preceding to the next section of the book, it turned out that, while neither refuting my thesis outright, nor confirming it, Bottesini simply went on to something else. He didnt seem overly concerned about 'positions, so, I asked myself, why was<i> </i>I?<br />
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The following post(s) will deal with more of the Method. </div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-91710224722592317632020-04-01T22:11:00.000-05:002020-04-01T22:11:43.440-05:00Bottesini Method, part 1<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Discarding every trifling disputation,
I have followed but one threefold guide in the composition of this
method: Truth for science. Beauty for art. Usefulness for the
pupil.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bottesini introduces his Method with a
few eloquent remarks, laying out the practical foundation of his
approach and modestly asserting that, rather than arising from a
burning desire to edify the bass playing world, it was only the
prompting of others that caused him to create the work. The author's
modesty is not merely surprising, emanating as it does from
Bottesini, the bassist and composer who bestrode the musical world of
the 19th century like a colossus, it also jars the modern
sensibility, inured as we are to the scourge of monetization and naked self-promotion that has
seeped into every corner of our cultural experience, penetrating even
to the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies of the musical world where
bassists dwell. The great virtuoso only reluctantly endeavored to
write his Method when begged to do so. And, furthermore, he
eschewed the golden opportunity to hawk something, a special end-pin,
personally endorsed bows or basses, perhaps an exclusive Bottesini
Brand</span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">®</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> rosin in a special monogrammed
stay-fresh case, or maybe a bib for the bass, quivers for the bow, how about a
summer camp, or an infallible secret to audition success. The great
Bottesini, virtuous in every sense, renounces commercialization,
turns his back on the snake oil and rubbish that litters so much of
the modern pedagogical landscape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Within the modest tone of the prologue,
Bottesini makes clear that, while respecting the viewpoints of
others, he reserves the right to express his own. He begins with an
impassioned argument for the three-stringed bass. In adding an extra
string, he argues, what is gained by enabling a few lower notes is
negated by the loss of sound and clarity of tone. As he describes his
experiments in adding a fourth string to various fine instruments:
<i>The result was always the same, and always bad...</i> Neither is
he in favor of tuning the bass in fifths, which he deems 'absurd'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As mentioned in the previous post, the
English language edition I'm using is published by Carl Fischer. The
Escudier edition, in addition to some very handsome illustrations not
found in the English version, has some slightly different material in
the introductory section. For instance, here, Bottesini takes aim at
the so-called Dragonetti Bow. <span style="font-size: small;"><i>Cette
position, on le voit, manque d'élégance. </i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">(</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
position, as we can see, lacks elegance.) Zing! </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;">Written
descriptions of bow grips are often vague and unhelpful. Admitting
this from the outset, Bottesini limits himself to a few instructions.
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
hand not too near the nut, nor too far from it</span></i></span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">, </span></span></span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">the
middle finger, the third finger, and the little finger firmly placed
against the nut in such a way that the middle finger adapts itself to
the place where the hair commences; the forefinger must hook upon the
stick and press it strongly; the thumb on the side of the nut and
always opposite the middle finger, pressing from the right side and a
little obliquely, the edge of the groove in the nut.</span></i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Most
surprising to me is that this description does not seem to match what
I have long understood to be the so-called Italian bow grip, where
the thumb is positioned in the little c-shaped part of the frog and
does not touch the stick at all. (I've seen this part of the bow
called the 'throat', which sounds gross when you think about the
Italian bow grip as sticking one's thumb in the throat of the bow.)</span></span></span></span>
The illustrations seem to bear this out.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although neither of the editions in my
possession have dates of publication, my guess is that the Method was
a later work, written after Bottesini had already achieved his fame
as a bassist. In support of this, I note how he mentions that others
approached and persuaded him to create it, </span>presumably<span style="font-family: inherit;"> on account of
his reputation. I also sense a degree of world-weariness in his
remarks. The fatalism in his attitude toward the instrument and its
students suggests a long travail and the attendant disappointment
inevitably experienced by all who play the instrument over a period
of many years.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bottesini's views on the double bass,
particularly concerning it as a solo instrument, might come as a
surprise to some, particularly to those in the Academy, and his realistic assessment of the prospects of
the majority of students who might take up the instrument flies in
the face of our present day practice of maintaining persistent, if
sometimes irrational, optimism.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Double Bass cannot aspire to the
advantages of other solo instruments... The sole end and purpose of
the Double Bass ought, then, to be giving of the fundamental notes to
the orchestra.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Let us make no mistake on this
subject; you do not learn to play the Double Bass for the purpose of
executing brilliant morceaux with purity of tone, elegance of
coloring, and lightness of bow. If uncommon talent, seconded by rare
gifts and long studies can attain exceptional results, such
attainments are not generally acquired.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ouch! with that,
it's time to start learning the Double Bass. The following posts
will delve deeper into the Method.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<br />Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-64650863664443700902020-03-24T21:28:00.000-05:002020-03-24T22:19:38.800-05:00What would Bottesini do?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc_oM06yMBU7u0edEU4JCZer0TN9Ux8hNxvfEB2erMX-AAepaFuijdIWYxTYwt4DDpIjCVS7HonpOpRBlfp6ryv0Jcm_lMzclTvEpf-Eof8_Sa9tLgXTaO1MiaC9WABiNdKi6ZIXC6UHG/s1600/bottesini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="275" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc_oM06yMBU7u0edEU4JCZer0TN9Ux8hNxvfEB2erMX-AAepaFuijdIWYxTYwt4DDpIjCVS7HonpOpRBlfp6ryv0Jcm_lMzclTvEpf-Eof8_Sa9tLgXTaO1MiaC9WABiNdKi6ZIXC6UHG/s200/bottesini.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Out of the several editions of the
famous passage for double basses from Verdi's Othello (Act IV), the
one most interesting to me is the version that includes fingerings
and bowings. Apparently, displeased by what he heard at the first
go-round in Milan, probably during rehearsals for the premier at La
Scala in 1887, Verdi sent a letter to Giovanni Bottesini in London,
mentioning 'problematic' intonation in the double basses. Along with
the letter, the composer included a copy of the passage with the
request that the great virtuoso provide fingerings to guide the
bassists in Milan toward fixing the intonation problem. Although I
am not 100% certain of the provenance of the markings in the Ricordi
edition, I have always assumed that they are what Bottesini provided
to Verdi.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
To the modern eye, at least to mine,
some of the fingerings look odd, most notably the half-steps that are
fingered 1 - 4.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
An aside is in order here, in case any
non bassists are torturing themselves by reading this. Nowadays,
with the exception of certain 'advanced' or 'extended' techniques, in
the lower positions, which encompass most of the orchestral
literature for the instrument, bassists mostly use the fingering
scheme of 1 - 2 - 4. The 1st and 4th finger spanning the distance of
a whole tone - and, obviously, from 1st to 2nd finger, and 2nd to
4th encompassing a semi tone. This fingering scheme appears in
method books by Franz Simandl, Edouard Nanny, Ludwig Streicher, and
probably many more I am unaware of. [An aside within an aside: I
once studied with a teacher who assigned etudes from the method by
Isaia Bille, who used the fingering scheme 1 - 3 - 4, the so-called
Italian Style. Only this teacher, in disagreement with Sgr. Bille,
had gone through the entire volume with whiteout, covering over every
instance of the 3rd finger and overwriting it with the numeral '2'.
Why would anyone overlook the strongest finger? he asked,
rhetorically.]</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Despite the development of 'modern'
fingering systems, the idea that the span between the 1st and 4th
finger shall be a whole step remains largely sacrosanct. Innovations
to fingering, such as they are, most often strive to increase that
span, through stretching the fingers, pivoting with the wrist &c.,
which makes the appearance of the half-steps and major thirds fingered 1 - 4 seem archaic, or at least a little bit odd. (Once
again for the non bassist: half-step corresponds to the major third in that the former is played on one string, the latter, on
adjacent strings, the distance between the fingers remaining the
same.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I have made my own version of the
excerpt (see below) including the fingerings from Bottesini. Instances of the 1 - 4 half-step fingerings
can be found in measures 6 and 7, 11 and 12, 17, 22, 23 and 24.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">Looking over the entire passage, one
will not find a single instance where the 2nd finger is employed -
the Italian custom of avoiding that digit altogether in the lower
positions. There are some other interesting features or, one might
say, inconsistencies, wherein at one time a half step is taken with
the aforementioned fingering of 1 - 4, and followed soon thereafter
with the same notes being fingered 1 - 3.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">Recently, while searching my computer
for a copy of the Othello excerpt to give to a student, I
rediscovered a scan of Bottesini's method book. Years ago,
unsolicited, someone had sent me a CD containing scans of the whole
book, an edition published by Carl Fischer, with the text in English.
Unfortunately, there are no dates or information about the editor or
translator, but it looks to be an old edition, with the archaic
fingerings intact. The book is also available on IMSLP, L</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">é</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">on
Escudier, editor, with </span><span style="text-align: justify;">the text in French. This version, in
addition to an extended introductory section, also includes a second
part that deals with the double bass as a solo instrument. I'm aware
that a few modern, bowdlerized version of the book exist, where, in
addition to the fingerings being 'updated', various passages were
transposed or rewritten to utilize a fourth string, something
Bottesini did not favor. With extra time on my hands lately, as is
I'm sure true of anyone reading this contemporaneously, I thought it
might be interesting to go through the book in order to try out
Bottesini's fingerings, and, in so doing, discover if there is any
method to what, at first glance appears as madness. My intention is
to make note of my experiences here. The next number of posts will
be dealing with that subject matter.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">Before proceeding to the Bottesini
Method, a few observations about the Othello passage might be of
interest. There is some debate about the accent on the first note -
specifically how loud to play that. At auditions, some players play it quite forcefully, others less so, or not at all. The score has
no accent, last time I checked. The up-bow marking suggests to me
that less of an attack might be the better approach. Perhaps the
accent is there more to indicate that the note should have a definite
beginning, rather than fading in from nothing. The indication of the
3rd string in m. 17 is almost certainly an error. The 1st string is
more logical and fits with the numbered fingerings. I'm hoping that
study of Bottesini's Method will shed some light on the fingering
choices in measure 22 - the interval C-flat to B-flat is fingered one
time 4 - 1 and the next 3 - 1.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">An old post might be of interest. It is an account of when the <b>{redacted}</b>SO, under Sir Georg Solti, performed the piece, with Luciano Pavarotti in the title role. One
minor episode not covered by the blog post concerns the marking <i>soli
contrabassi a 4 corde</i>. The three string bass being still widely used
at the time, Verdi felt the need to specify that only those with the
low E string should play the first six measures, until <i>tutti</i> is
marked in measure seven, probably to avoid having players join in in
the middle of a phrase. At the first go through with Solti, it
seemed like he had never noticed the marking before. There was some
back and forth with the principal until the brain trust, such as it
was, came to the (wrong!) conclusion that <i>contrabassi a 4 corde</i> meant
four players. We were all set to proceed that way, with four players
beginning, and the rest of the section joining at bar seven. Needles
to say, this didn't sit well with some of us. It was one of a number
of times over the years I thought the section might actually come to
blows. At the time, I was using a five-string bass and wondered whether I should
be a pill and, adhering to the letter of the law, sit out. In the
end, hotter heads prevailed, and we all played the whole thing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The post about the 1990 performance is <span style="color: red;"><a href="https://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2007/09/king-kong-v-godzilla.html" target="_blank">here.</a></span></div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-73982933639124485382019-12-21T00:32:00.001-06:002019-12-21T00:32:52.490-06:00Joy to the World<br />
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>an argument against happiness</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
casual glance at an orchestra in performance usually reveals a group
of mostly phlegmatic individuals going about their business. To the untrained eye, stoicism appears to be the order of the day, but the astute observer can mark a variety of attitudes and emotions
among the musicians. During a single concert it is often possible to
observe everything from rapture to despair, disguised either
cleverly, or not at all. Even when the general mood of the ensemble
is good and spirits are mostly high, it is almost always possible to
find at least one individual who is scowling or otherwise showing
signs of being under a dark cloud. Conversely, when spirits are
generally low, there is always someone who seems to be happily
playing away, either oblivious to, or immune from the general malaise
around them.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
entertaining pastime to consider during an otherwise un-engaging
performance is to look for the player onstage who seems to be
enjoying themselves most of all and then to seek out their
counterpart, the one who is suffering. This is easier than it seems
at first for, interestingly, these individuals are often seated <b>right</b><b>
next to each other</b>. Having observed this phenomenon over a number
of years, I've struggled to determine if this antipodal relationship
is causal or correlative. Is this<i> </i>a<i> </i>coincidence? Is
it <i>Schadenfreude </i>- a happy individual taking pleasure in the
low spirits of another? Or is it something else? Why do individuals
in close proximity exhibit such discordant emotional responses to the
same performance? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In my
experience, the overly happy player is more often than not at least
partially oblivious to their surroundings, and therefore probably
incapable of experiencing<i> Schadenfreude. </i>On the other hand,
the unhappy individual, possessed of a keener sense of
discrimination, possibly sharpened by years of discontentment, is
more acutely aware, sometimes painfully so, of what is going on
around them. Maybe this boils down to something like the bumper
stickers you see occasionally that say “If you're not outraged,
you're not paying attention.” </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For a
while I postulated that there might be a limited supply of happiness
available during any performance, and the happy player had siphoned
off more than their fair share - the “I drink your milkshake”
theory. But later on I began to wonder if that viewpoint might have
been overly simplistic. The supply of happiness is most probably
variable; happiness can be created or destroyed. But is the creation
of happiness equivalent to the destruction of unhappiness? This got
me to wondering if the happy player, through the reckless enactment
of their enjoyment, might actually be creating unhappiness in those
around them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
subject got rolling around in my </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">mind
again when </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
recently came across the term </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Gluckschmerz</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
a made up word with a mysterious etymology</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
Gluckschmerz</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
while not its exact opposite, is a good complement to </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Schadenfreude</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
My small understanding of these two terms is that they both have
something to do with a sense of justice and with group dynamics,
which make them both apt for talking about the orchestra. More than
simply the enjoyment gained from witnessing someone else's suffering,
</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Schadenfreude
</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">is
the feeling of satisfaction that arises from knowing justice is being
done when a transgressor receives their well-deserved comeuppance.
Likewise, </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">beyond
being suffering caused by the joy of another, </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Gluckschmerz
</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">is
the unhappiness felt upon witnessing someone deriving pleasure from
something that is ill-gotten, illegitimate, or otherwise undeserved.
When an acerbic conductor calls out a certain musician, players may
experience </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Schadenfreude
</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">if
they feel the criticism to be merited</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
When the criticism is not forthcoming they might feel disappointment,
which, when the undeserving player then gambols and frolics through a
concert in an unaware and unconscious state of bliss, curdles and
becomes </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Gluckschmerz</span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
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<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the one hand, there is something profoundly depressing when
considering how joy and misery are sometimes dependently linked. I
can imagine Messrs. Schadenfreude and Gluckschmerz as two grizzled
old timers, long time stand partners at the back of a string section
in some godforsaken orchestra. Like two petulant children on
opposite ends of a teeter-totter, one can only go up when the other
comes down; they are hateful of, yet dependent upon the other.
Conversely, there is cause for optimism, for as we are especially
reminded during the holiday season, we are, all of us, sinners. As such, when we fall, as we all do, inevitably, we might be able to take solace in the fact we might be generating happiness, at least somewhere. At
any rate, this dark underbelly to happiness is something to keep in
mind over the next few weeks. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
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<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-29944648315933773812019-11-11T22:57:00.000-06:002019-11-11T22:57:29.505-06:00Logging Back On<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif79-iZnZOGtK1dNTx0WoMMRLe4o8zK8azBelxTgUvAHKNjVl_faqs9jbf8zzqlYDgJASRhCk4jSFFWv7r7D-MCqrYDkcgGzmqLf5etcB4M2iww0TEdPx1GfmJnejJ5bSASArnuEg9eBlG/s1600/IMG_1230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="1600" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif79-iZnZOGtK1dNTx0WoMMRLe4o8zK8azBelxTgUvAHKNjVl_faqs9jbf8zzqlYDgJASRhCk4jSFFWv7r7D-MCqrYDkcgGzmqLf5etcB4M2iww0TEdPx1GfmJnejJ5bSASArnuEg9eBlG/s200/IMG_1230.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now
that I've gone ahead and redacted myself from the <b>{redacted}</b>SO, I
intend to begin blogging again, although the subject matter will
probably be substantially different than before. But more on
retirement will be forthcoming later. The pressing concern of the
moment is a concert by The Growlers: <i>A Double Bass Ensemble</i>, exactly
one week from today. Details are below.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm
very happy to be performing <i>Logs</i>, by Paul Chihara on this concert.
It has been a favorite of mine since college days, way back in the
late 1970s. Most notable to me is Chihara's use of the 'circular
bowing' technique, which produces a very earthy, organic kind of
sound, evoking feelings of being deep within a quiet, ancient forest,
sensing that trees are truly alive. The inspiration for the piece
apparently came from Zen breathing exercises in <i>The Art of Archery</i>.
Our performance of <i>Logs</i> will use six double basses, spread out as
much as space will allow, hopefully giving the audience the sensation
of being surrounded by old trees. Indeed, what is a double bass, if not
an old log fashioned into something else?
</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5aS9tF-unWKAWesK9EyZki8YpySS9SOanesEZpAlRpLGD57XEYPg3PEGgaB6nf_FMZNsglfJeAvu98BQ7OMu5DhMVEUyEexCnuQXsivS_Xh_7CORSdzMB9fko4WVH3oiS5NbJpUTRmnH/s1600/IMG_1201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5aS9tF-unWKAWesK9EyZki8YpySS9SOanesEZpAlRpLGD57XEYPg3PEGgaB6nf_FMZNsglfJeAvu98BQ7OMu5DhMVEUyEexCnuQXsivS_Xh_7CORSdzMB9fko4WVH3oiS5NbJpUTRmnH/s400/IMG_1201.JPG" width="307" /></a></div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-76064365204302796302018-10-02T21:29:00.000-05:002018-10-03T08:19:00.078-05:00Probably of Interest to Bassists Only<i>(the first draft of this post had some unfortunate typos in the examples, hopefully corrected now)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Mozart, Don Giovanni Overture and
Symphony no. 40 provided opportunities to trot out a few crusty old
fingerings and, thanks to some slow-ish tempos, roll out a few things
that had been on the drawing board for years but never battle tested.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Following a somber presage of the Don's
ultimate fate, the hastily composed overture (apparently penned after
a Kavanaugh-esque night of drinking on the eve of the premiere) moves
along at sprightly clip, <i>Allegro Molto</i> it says in the part. Low
strings and bassoons join the action with the following passage.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJckgyDD5CbXjVve4c-C4Tv2dU07xq0a2uHGKLfDyWQBRWFjSk7JFIUyzD680f78zYDrgrml48lhkAWgrfa9-yECjYPlmVP8Mo4qokqokD0FrMRjmRjh8JpoOOhGgVFSTRKgcP-_KAi5C/s1600/Don+J+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="1600" height="47" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJckgyDD5CbXjVve4c-C4Tv2dU07xq0a2uHGKLfDyWQBRWFjSk7JFIUyzD680f78zYDrgrml48lhkAWgrfa9-yECjYPlmVP8Mo4qokqokD0FrMRjmRjh8JpoOOhGgVFSTRKgcP-_KAi5C/s400/Don+J+01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<br />
<div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Unlike a lot of things, this is
actually quite pleasant to play on the double bass, with open 'A' and
'D' strings to call upon. When the passage returns, a fifth higher,
not so much. The problem is really the 'c-sharp' to 'e-natural' –
it's either across 3 strings, or a shift (the interval of a sixth is
a long way on an instrument tuned in fourths). I came up with the
following solution back in college.</div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjZ_rtiYFlZPTCN5lOVB_ZW06AMC-EGDSZlGDOJRl2MCj75IMb1oCyZab4con-tL9oiFqtXVvA-PwNFXyVBy4ZVb-JZmudQ7v1LBG9tKKW-PcYccRsGz3sRTZ0kjKpMXm9iGzLdThHiZI/s1600/mozart+don+j+corrected.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="1600" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjZ_rtiYFlZPTCN5lOVB_ZW06AMC-EGDSZlGDOJRl2MCj75IMb1oCyZab4con-tL9oiFqtXVvA-PwNFXyVBy4ZVb-JZmudQ7v1LBG9tKKW-PcYccRsGz3sRTZ0kjKpMXm9iGzLdThHiZI/s400/mozart+don+j+corrected.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">'N' stands for thumbnail, or end of the
thumb, a nifty way to play fourths. Another way to deal with fourths
is to finger them 3-2, which leads to a handy way to take on chords
in the first inversion, which you can see in the 5</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">th</sup><span style="text-align: justify;"> and
6</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">th</sup><span style="text-align: justify;"> bars of the excerpt.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I like this solution so much, I
actually used it the first instance of this passage. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6sIEe80sqA892uszzK3iW3rqquJhdtIU1zrNFT6-oQKUOZ5VfJ1M4jqQoB9-cz-SyGTbL2e_vIDXiTkiNThM2B24ntO000WUM4ld6G5BLHCacd3N6yI8eOYv0g2CQPwy02kGhtnA9cJX/s1600/Don+J+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="1600" height="38" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6sIEe80sqA892uszzK3iW3rqquJhdtIU1zrNFT6-oQKUOZ5VfJ1M4jqQoB9-cz-SyGTbL2e_vIDXiTkiNThM2B24ntO000WUM4ld6G5BLHCacd3N6yI8eOYv0g2CQPwy02kGhtnA9cJX/s200/Don+J+05.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6sIEe80sqA892uszzK3iW3rqquJhdtIU1zrNFT6-oQKUOZ5VfJ1M4jqQoB9-cz-SyGTbL2e_vIDXiTkiNThM2B24ntO000WUM4ld6G5BLHCacd3N6yI8eOYv0g2CQPwy02kGhtnA9cJX/s1600/Don+J+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Mozart 40 is one of those pieces that
ends up on almost every double bass audition. Over the years, I've
come across countless ways to finger the passages in the last
movement. At m.49, I use what was once upon a time an innovative
approach, but now I think is fairly standard. The little wrinkle at
the 5<sup>th</sup> measure was one of those things I had been working
on for a while but never had a chance to try. Beyond flashiness for
its own sake, I thought it might be nice to handle the 1<sup>st</sup>
and 5<sup>th</sup> measures with the same string crossings while
avoiding an ungodly open 'G' string. My stand partner gave me a bit
of side-eye during this passage, but I'm choosing to take that as a
sign of approval. Also, lastly, the traditional 'on one string'
approach to this measure looks kind of embarrassing to me when you
see a whole section doing it together. Nothing more to say about
that. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDjVXeia0DMJTXiQTYVG8zPlmbHhgQ_u1xYYwQ6vxfF76p-YiYhquoJ_rcE4RkGgSiG7jWzXYZlXO8Mp_n8onsHqjdxfgbDY4i7RPUWuaL9wlMBFTlfbFMTFTD6aWFVnI1LTBRRW6yQtV/s1600/Symphony+40+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="1600" height="69" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDjVXeia0DMJTXiQTYVG8zPlmbHhgQ_u1xYYwQ6vxfF76p-YiYhquoJ_rcE4RkGgSiG7jWzXYZlXO8Mp_n8onsHqjdxfgbDY4i7RPUWuaL9wlMBFTlfbFMTFTD6aWFVnI1LTBRRW6yQtV/s320/Symphony+40+01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<br />
Initially, I thought I needed to arrive
at the 5<sup>th</sup> measure like this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNFG3CcEqvXJ0s6kH50oyMFDPIQ1t2vxokT_lZoNDvt_xmgoCKk3VzRqNmYrg2Tlf6fsSFo3tB7xO3hShAcAb8rLOu9PsiGjp9L09XocIh8tsD47BF__onaSF1hh_PYs6q_LGtno8-ZtY/s1600/Symphony+40+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="1573" height="51" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNFG3CcEqvXJ0s6kH50oyMFDPIQ1t2vxokT_lZoNDvt_xmgoCKk3VzRqNmYrg2Tlf6fsSFo3tB7xO3hShAcAb8rLOu9PsiGjp9L09XocIh8tsD47BF__onaSF1hh_PYs6q_LGtno8-ZtY/s200/Symphony+40+02.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Eventually I found that I didn't need
to 'prepare' the thumb position and settled on what is shown in the
full example.<br />
<br />
Either the tempo was a bit slower by
the time we reached m.229, or else I was finally warming up. Anyhow,
I felt confident enough to try out the following.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkuU3oI-pjlU2Capx2DCDY3ip-p5LU2VNtXyw5sAGzIPOlTLbwntKmpgb1vDKkcwkjFom9KrS4iF5olz9P_s4K2erLm6CrVV1CBUTh4CBeEYu6EXiWE9Tax_zGlXuDrVy6UNdudGbPCFp/s1600/Symphony+40+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="1600" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkuU3oI-pjlU2Capx2DCDY3ip-p5LU2VNtXyw5sAGzIPOlTLbwntKmpgb1vDKkcwkjFom9KrS4iF5olz9P_s4K2erLm6CrVV1CBUTh4CBeEYu6EXiWE9Tax_zGlXuDrVy6UNdudGbPCFp/s320/Symphony+40+03.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The first measure is a variant I've
used off and on (instead of using a fingering similar to m.49). I've
added some brackets to show the 'positions' and hopefully make it
look slightly less insane. Playing across the strings at mm.3 and 5
was a concerted effort to try and find a way to play these passages
more leggero, which is often a thankless, losing battle. Finally,
the odd looking half-step, fingered 3-1 (mm.5-6), is for relaxation
of the hand, and also to create a larger interval, with the 'F-sharp'
sounding (to my ear at least) better on the low side. </div>
<br /></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-79363282855828791892018-09-19T22:07:00.001-05:002018-09-19T22:52:08.603-05:00The 5,436 Overture <div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">European thought, art, and culture is imported by Americans, who consume it like candy. So it’s not entirely strange that a piece of music about the victory of a Russian Tsar over a French Emperor would become an American summer staple. The 1812 Overture possesses many of the elements essential to American blockbuster style entertainment: bombast, triumphalism, religiosity, militarism, shallow spectacle, with a dollop weaponry thrown in. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Beethoven had his chance to dominate the 4th of July circuit but muffed it with Wellington’s Victory. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> It is debatable whether we in the USA should be cheering on a Russian victory, either in 1812 or today. Ideologically, I’m not sure who was the good guy in that conflict. But for the casual listener, I’m sure the piece is merely something vaguely rousing and patriotic, a musical tableau from around the time Canadians burned down our White House, or something. (Many of us would surely like invite them back to repeat the deed, forthwith!)</span></div>
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<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
A trauma during my formative years as a musician left me incapable of appreciating Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece. One of the first things I ever played with a local Youth Symphony was the 1812. A bit about Tchaikovsky’s writing for the double bass can be found <a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2018/04/a-real-page-turner.html" target="_blank">here</a>. For now, it is sufficient to say that in Tchaikovsky, the bass isn’t fully a member of the string family, but gets palmed off on the low brass, as if they needed the help. At a ‘string sectional’ on the piece, we got to the final page and rehearsed the section, right after the cannon shots, where the strings play those wonderful, swirling passages, tremolando. Of course, the basses don’t play that. We play the chorale with the winds and brass. So I, along with another unlucky, sallow-faced and unprepared pre-teen bassist, had to squeak and sqawk through the chorale alone, horribly off key, and putrid of tone, while 40 of our comrades snickered. I’ve found it impossible to enjoy the piece since that day.</div>
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<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
The summer season devoted a lot of time to the music of Leonard Bernstein, culminating in two highly successful performances of his Mass - all the more satisfying since I was off both nights. However, in addition to all of the Americana, there was a suspicious, perhaps even meddlesome, amount of Russian music programmed as well, as if somebody felt the need, musically, to say there are good people on both sides. Most memorable was a weekend Maria Butina and Wayne LaPierre could only have dreamed about - two Tchaikovsky Spectaculars, back to back, with each night capped off (pun intended!) by the 1812 Overture. The fusiliers seemed hellbent on using up the their entire supply of gunpowder, each shot louder than the one before, until the final blast at the second performance had me extracting a deeply impacted earplug with a pair of tweezers after the concert.</div>
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<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
There is a body of circumstantial evidence of collusion between summer and ‘downtown’ programming. Year after year, some of the same pieces tend crop up a season later in one place or the other. This year, suspiciously, the first set of subscription concerts is another all Russian affair. Also, the annual free “Concert for <b>{redacted}”</b> this week culminates in, yes, the 1812 Overture. Enough to give any conspiracy theorist reason to persist for yet another season. </div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-24948817970801606652018-06-27T16:08:00.001-05:002018-06-27T16:08:55.649-05:00Stoppage Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HKp7cMYHXXGgTVFEz1kVJphD61uNKnCwgsYQ0GLxmyEQ03cXYoJMs6cY2IlSHz8FUMCkfqQJHiyTYuTT14Ft-hRPkKsovXht7svfc6JNVLlX6zPPUEC9cICvR0DE6Pu0SNsr5l7rN2cN/s1600/HEADLINE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="1000" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HKp7cMYHXXGgTVFEz1kVJphD61uNKnCwgsYQ0GLxmyEQ03cXYoJMs6cY2IlSHz8FUMCkfqQJHiyTYuTT14Ft-hRPkKsovXht7svfc6JNVLlX6zPPUEC9cICvR0DE6Pu0SNsr5l7rN2cN/s400/HEADLINE.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Billing the concerts last week as the
Season Finale suggested we might be entering the realm of Alternate
Facts, since many knew the ensemble was scheduled to return for four
more performances. The season would really end with the orchestra
accompanying a week-long run of Star Wars: Episode IV – A New
Hope, yet another of the film night performances sneaking across the
boarder between classical and popular music to infest our schedule.
Cherubini, <i>Chant sur la mort du Joseph Haydn</i> was an interesting
choice in this era of Fake News; the work was composed in reaction to
a (failing?) London publication's erroneous report that the revered
composer had died. Having survived in spite of Cherubini's request
that all copies be destroyed once he learned the error upon which it was
based, the star-crossed composition was given an interesting
performance here on Saturday evening. About seven measures into the
quiet introduction, in response to an inadvertent noise from the
stage, the Maestro stopped the performance, turned and excoriated the
audience for the disruption. Breaking the fourth wall is often an
invitation for the least inhibited among us to open up their own
particular jar of crazy, and so, true to form, in the uncomfortable
silence following the Maestro's remarks somebody yelled out
something, a few people clapped, a few more tittered, none of which
did anything but make the atmosphere more tense. With all hope of
quickly putting a minor disturbance behind us gone, we started again
from the beginning.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
There were many theories put forth by
musicians to try and explain what had happened. Perhaps the Maestro
reacted to some audience members' spontaneous expressions of surprise
over the onstage noise, which also had a visual component. Maybe the
quick assignation of blame to the audience was a show of solidarity
with musicians. The only constant was the poor reporting in the
press, beginning of course with the premature pronouncement of
Haydn's death, and continuing with both local papers writing up the
incident as a concert halted due to 'coughing', a misrepresentation
parroted by one of the more popular classical music blogs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Humans, on either side of the
proscenium, occasionally make unintended noises. With training and
concentrated focus on the task at hand, most musicians are able to
block out whatever the audience is doing, even when it is startling,
like someone talking loudly, falling ill, or even a fistfight breaking out
in the box seats (the so-called Brawl at the Hall). Unexpected
surprises from the stage can be harder to ignore, since (ostensibly)
we are paying close attention to each other. Where force of
concentration is insufficient, the professional code of conduct keeps
most musicians focused on their own tasks when faced with anything
from a broken string or dropped mute to someone vomiting onstage
(yes, that happened). Lacking the training, not bound by a
professional code of conduct, and probably not concentrating as
deeply, audience members can be forgiven for spontaneous reactions to
something startling or unusual.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Coughs, on the other hand, are often
symptoms of a bored or uninvolved audience. A disinterested group of
people tends to cough and fidget more. Sometimes the very same
audience that coughed a lot during one part of a performance will
become riveted later on, and much more quiet. Concerts with
superstar performers tend to draw audiences that contain more people
who are not really there to hear the music, so these crowds often
contain more people who are disengaged from the performance,
inattentive, and noisy. But, no matter who is performing, audience
behavior is a reflection on what is happening on stage.
Becoming irritated with an audience is like yelling at the wind.
Asking people not to cough is like telling someone not to think of a
pink elephant and then getting upset when they do.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-31165510081435000432018-06-05T04:06:00.000-05:002018-06-05T04:06:18.177-05:00Tongue Tied<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">When I asked an acquaintance why he was having so much trouble committing to acquiring a new cat, even though it was something he repeatedly expressed a strong desire to do, he replied that, as a man ‘of a certain age’, he fully expected that, even if it didn’t outlive him, his next cat would be his last. In that frame of mind, he certainly didn’t want to rush into such an important decision and eventually ended up agonizing over it </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">for more than a year. When our music director’s contract was extended until 2022, as a musician ‘of a certain age’, I realized that either he or his replacement </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">would be my last. Fortunately for me, as a rank and file player, I won’t have a lot of agonizing to do, but the decision isn’t entirely without consequences. And the arrival of a new maestro is an interesting time to be in an orchestra - sort of a chance for the </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">dispassionate observer to play Jane Goodall minus a trek through the jungle - certainly an experience to savor one last time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Esa-Pekka Salonen came to town a few weeks ago, conducting some heavyweight repertoire - Mahler 9 and <i>Verklärte Nacht</i> were the mainstays - which might indicate somebody in the organization has their eye on him as music director material. I like Salonen for the post, both as a conductor and composer, but also for a more insidious reason. As the arrival of the current music director prompted a number musicians to take up the study of Italian, I wonder if a new era might see a similar interest in the Finnish language emerge. Unfortunately, the US State Department Foreign Service Institute lists Finnish among the group of languages most difficult for English speakers to learn. According to the FSI, </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">in order to become conversant, </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">a student of Finnish might expect to put in about 44 weeks, or 1100 hours </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">of study. </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I think it would be very interesting to see if any of my colleagues would take up the challenge. Coincidentally, since Finnish is related to Hungarian, and both are from outside of the Indo-European family, there is a certain pleasing symmetry to the idea I might end my career just as it began, under the baton of a maestro speaking one of the Uralic languages.</span></div>
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****</div>
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The Bass Blog now has a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Bass-Blog-376381979519788/?modal=admin_todo_tour" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>. Nothing much to see there at the moment, but hopefully that will change in time.</div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-78135788710395979932018-05-20T16:58:00.001-05:002018-05-20T16:58:21.034-05:00The Red, White and Blue Orchestra (part two)<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; widows: 2;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">You
see, teamwork will only take you so far. Then the truly evolved
person makes that extra grab for personal glory.</i></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Montgomery
Burns – The Simpsons, season 7, episode 12: Team Homer (aka the Pin
Pals episode)</span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
What makes an orchestra an orchestra?
One essential component seems to be that to qualify as such, an
orchestra must have more than one type of instrument; another
requirement is that it have groups of like instruments playing the
same part. Some more concise definitions require that bowed strings
make up the grouped instruments sharing parts. Perhaps that is why
the designations 'string orchestra' versus 'band' or (if they are
trying to fancify it) 'wind ensemble' are used to describe groups
made up entirely of strings or winds, respectively. Or maybe the
right to the designation acknowledges that the orchestra began as a
group of stringed instruments, and it is this core group which
continues to give the ensemble its identity. <span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Les
Vingt-quatre Violons du Roi, </i></span></span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">from
the time of</span></span> Louis XIII was, as the
name suggests, a group of instruments from viol family with multiple
players sharing each of five separate parts. It is this ensemble
which is regarded by many as the prototype for the modern orchestra.
The members of this fabulous group had the perk of being allowed to
carry swords and they held secure positions that were hereditary or
could be sold. (Anyone who decries the supposedly coddled state of
orchestral musicians as yet another symptom of decay in the modern
era should look back about 500 years and reconsider.) The 24
strings, who were better at using their 'indoor voices', were
occasionally augmented with wind instruments, customarily used for
outdoor performances, playing one to a part and, to quote King Louis,
<i>voila!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
All musicians of the orchestra
collaborate to bring off a performance. True, there are instances of
nonconformity, ranging from recalcitrance all the way to willful
sabotage (Please, don't ask me to write about that.), but the ethos is
overwhelmingly one of cooperation. With between eight and sixteen
players sharing a part, the string sections require a different
degree of cooperative effort than the winds, brass, and percussion,
where each individual bears responsibility for his or her own line. I
once participated in a conversation during which a member of a wind
section made a disparaging remark about how it seemed that before
every performance the stagehands would come and take one or more
chairs out of the string sections (meaning a player would be absent –
this is something for audience members to lookout for during the
warm-ups, by the way), while players at the back (winds, brass,
percussion), having more of a sense of responsibility and pride in
their jobs, were seldom if ever absent. True enough, but another
pair of anecdotes might show this in a different light. Once, with
the music director on the podium, we were playing a piece with a
major solo part for one of the string principals who became seriously
ill mid-week, after one or two performances, if I recall. The newly
hired assistant took over on very short notice and performed more
than admirably. Another time, a principal of a wind section made the
entirely understandable and forgivable error of mixing up a matinee
and an evening performance in the schedule. First the concert order
was reshuffled, and then the rest of the performance was ultimately
delayed by about one hour, awaiting the arrival of the essential yet
tardy musician. As the show must go on, in this case I say score one
for the strength and flexibility of the collective! It is true that
during a performance an audience member might observe a string player
dropping out momentarily in order to turn a page, put on a mute,
scratch an itch, or whatever, without a significantly noticeable
result. But this only underscores the strength of these sections and
the adaptability of the players. Like the internet, which can endure
catastrophic local failure due to a design where no single node is
essential to the survival of the whole, the string sections of an
orchestra are strong and flexible because of their built-in
redundancy and the players are attuned to working collectively and
adjusting to whatever minor variations might occur. This strength
emanates from willing self-sacrifice, along with the attendant
sublimation of ego, which is the price paid by string players to
distribute their responsibility widely among themselves. The
countless minor adjustments and compromises that go into playing in a
string section are largely unremarked upon in rehearsal and are more
or less taken for granted during the applause.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Returning to the post performance
acknowledgments, the trend of having more and more individuals,
sections, sets and subsets of groups within the orchestra rise for
special recognition during the applause seems to be gaining momentum.
This trend has also affected other art-forms as well. A New York
Times article from a few years back noted the increasing length of
film credits, where anyone who so much as brought coffee and donuts
to the director now gets a mention. In the concert hall every
conductor is now on the lookout for opportunities to distinguish an
individual player from the larger group. This is troubling, and not
merely as an expression of sour grapes from a string player, but
arises from a general uneasiness with the fact that the orchestra,
already imagined by many in the public as an autocratic, elitist
organization, does little to counteract those negative perceptions by
spotlighting individual accomplishment over collaborative effort.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
There is a brief section in Thomas
Mann's <i>Doctor Faustus</i> which I cannot recall exactly or find again
when I thumb impatiently through the book, so it is possible I'm
making it up out of whole cloth, but the passage I have in mind is a
description of the way Renaissance composers embedded a bit
Christian symbolism into their compositions by writing crossed voices
in the polyphony to invoke the image of the Holy Cross. These secret
symbols communicated to those who could read the score but were not
readily discernible to those who merely heard the music. With that
passage, whether it really exists or not, in the back of my mind, my
thoughts crystallized when I found myself in the music library
looking through the score of the Bruckner 9<sup>th</sup> Symphony in
search of a minor discrepancy. What drove me to the library is not
now important, probably on the same level as observing that the
gargoyle on one side of a Gothic cathedral has six teeth, then
traipsing a hundred meters or so in order to discover that its
counterpart on the opposite side has but five. Nevertheless, the inconsequential yet nagging question had me seeking out the score in
search of an answer. As it was an election year here in the US, I
had also been pouring over dozens of electoral maps at the time.
Anyone who has done so will have noted the great spatial disparity;
vast swaths of sparsely populated territory are held by the
Republican (conservative) party while the Democrats (liberals) are
clustered in densely populated urban centers. Turning to the Trio
section of the second movement, where I knew I would find the answer
to my query, the great expanse of empty staves struck me as instantly
familiar. What appeared to be a mostly empty page of manuscript
actually represented a majority of the players playing! Is it
possible that conductors, who (allegedly) spend hour upon hour
studying scores, rather than holding animus for the string sections,
are responding to this spatial under-representation on the printed
page when it comes to post performance acknowledgment?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq_8J7IRb6oqWVcUv28bs_SmqGBeGu6Oe8x1ZpelZqTRkErko3OMoHp7LjS_BIU91XY7WHWXcnc6jcXhtUznGRa0V3JaQgcXMjasMCYaMjJb0l-C5vkblMg4FWvsS_hiVFRuIOWZch4l0/s1600/ill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="933" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq_8J7IRb6oqWVcUv28bs_SmqGBeGu6Oe8x1ZpelZqTRkErko3OMoHp7LjS_BIU91XY7WHWXcnc6jcXhtUznGRa0V3JaQgcXMjasMCYaMjJb0l-C5vkblMg4FWvsS_hiVFRuIOWZch4l0/s400/ill.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(click to embiggen)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><b>Left: </b>Bruckner 9<sup>th</sup> symphony,
Trio. Two thirds of the orchestra (strings) playing, one third
resting. </i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><b>Right:</b> 2016 presidential election results. Decisive
victory for the Democratic (Blue) candidate (+~900,000 votes).</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b>N.B.</b> Use of the state of Illinois is
for illustration purposes only. No information about the location of
a Large Midwestern City is intended or implied.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Could it simply be that conductors,
seeing an image of a grand orchestral score in their mind's eye,
convert the disparity on the page into an unequal lavishing of
attention? Some conductors certainly appear to follow the formula
that everyone who gets a line in the score gets a bow. Obviously,
this does not completely explain the treatment of the string sections, who get 4
or 5 lines yet almost always rise as a group. It is possible that
with the strings clustered at the bottom of the score, coming last in
the order, and with patience and applause thinning out, the maestro is
merely wrapping things up in a kind of yada yada yada. Or perhaps
the strings have gone the way of a vestigial organ, or the reptilian
brain, once upon a time vital to the organism, maybe its defining
characteristic even, but now layered over with the fruits of more
recent evolution and progress.</div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-15306483969051221812018-05-13T16:14:00.000-05:002018-05-13T16:15:41.243-05:00The Red, White and Blue Orchestra (part one)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsOwBu000jb473q8J05_X_RinAmtVlyuELUK1M-b5dfYPxO6djnI87h53F8JrHSTAaFu2qJyriFnMNkIunSsRWgxB-AQsGXR4l0rwTVYcZfrLtPZI7mlNjM9mf4XSlK1bgweAnDoHHNbq/s1600/12368749_f496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="496" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsOwBu000jb473q8J05_X_RinAmtVlyuELUK1M-b5dfYPxO6djnI87h53F8JrHSTAaFu2qJyriFnMNkIunSsRWgxB-AQsGXR4l0rwTVYcZfrLtPZI7mlNjM9mf4XSlK1bgweAnDoHHNbq/s400/12368749_f496.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This post was getting way too long, so
I split it in two.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Years ago, after a concert, a stranger
approached without invitation and began to unburden himself. The
scenario becomes slightly less odd when I add that I was carrying my
double bass at the time. As many who play the instrument know,
trundling about with such a conspicuous load makes one a slow-moving,
easy target, captive to all manner of unwanted attention. The reason
for the fellow's need to share his thoughts became apparent soon
enough when he noted that as a lapsed Catholic and infrequent
concert-goer, attending his first performance after a lengthy absence
had evoked unpleasant memories from his childhood. More than
anything, he said, the hushed reverence of the concert hall, the men
in funny costume, all of the sitting down and standing up, reminded
him of the Latin Masses he had endured as a child. Even though the
language of music seemed as unfathomable and profound as Latin had
been to his youthful mind, he found both piercingly beautiful,
literally the voice of the divine, to his way of thinking. What
annoyed him about both the concert and the Mass were the ways which
both mediated that voice through unnecessary, worldly pageantry and
stiff formality that spoke more to human pettiness and egotism than
to the otherworldly. Unfortunately, much of what he related is lost to me,
for, at the time, even in my as yet underdeveloped penchant for
fleeing the scene of a concert with utmost alacrity, I impatiently
discounted his remarks as the unfortunate coincidence of a traumatic
religious upbringing with poor social skills. Yet this gentleman,
who I served poorly at the time with my indifference, is probably in
some way responsible for my often wondering about the format of the
orchestra concert, its stagecraft (such as it is) and what meaning or
message is conveyed to the audience by the non musical portions of a
performance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Due to its variability, the end of an
orchestral performance provides more fodder for speculation than the
beginning to those who wish to view the concert as psychodrama or
read it as some kind of political allegory. At the conclusion of
most theater productions, even after dropping character, the players
take their bows in a choreographed, rehearsed sequence, perhaps
moving from the minor roles to the leading parts, culminating with a
final joining of hands by the entire cast. By contrast, the end of
an orchestral performance is, by design, an impromptu affair, with
only the broad outline of what is to occur known by the musicians in
advance. The maestro will take any number of curtain calls, at
certain points asking the entire ensemble to stand. Depending on the
repertoire, individuals, soloists or sections, will be asked to rise
in turn, either remaining on their feet, or sitting to make way for
others. Who will be acknowledged, and in what order, is not revealed
in advance. Lack of planning is usually not much of a problem, or
results in only minor hiccups, but occasionally produces a shambolic
or comedic effect. Sometimes at the motion to stand, two players
will rise, or none at all, with several people looking over their
shoulders, returning 'who, me?' looks to the imploring maestro. How
ironic for the audience to observe that the conductor who supposedly
possessed the ability to draw the most exquisite and subtle nuances
from the orchestra by the slightest gesture of hand during the
performance, has now become unable to distinguish between two players
sitting a yard or so apart by pointing with that same hand during the
applause. With the hand having lost its supernatural abilities, the
maestro may next resort to miming the instruments or calling on the
players to lip read. An interesting aside is that, during more than
thirty years playing in orchestras, beyond some very general
instructions (try to smile, look at the audience, don't clean your
instrument!) I have never witnessed, or even heard about, discussion
of what would take place during the applause.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Through its spontaneity, the post
concert ritual opens a window into the inner workings of the maestro.
Just as Kremlinologists once studied photos from the Red Square
Mayday Parade in order to deduce a deeper meaning from the position
of dignitaries atop Lenin's tomb relative to the General Secretary,
the concertgoer can sometimes 'read between the lines' during the
applause by noting who gets acknowledged, and in what order. For
instance, after a recent performance, the trombone section was given
a bow, but none of the vocal soloists. What was the meaning in that?
A nod to the military industrial complex? A warning to the
intelligentsia? Who knows. Every conductor has a unique way of
handling the post performance acknowledgments. Certain of them
appear to have a set routine for each piece that they follow with
little variation – Brahms 1<sup>st</sup> symphony might be 1)
concertmaster 2) horn 3) oboe, etc., for example – while others
appear to react in the moment. A poor performance, inattentiveness,
or something that occurred during the rehearsals might move a player
down in the order, or off it altogether. Some are generally stingy
about rewarding individuals, and others search out any player who
might have had the slightest contribution to the performance for
recognition. Of course, none of the preceding applies to the string
sections except in the rarest of situations. Their treatment is
systematic, and will be covered in the next post.
</span></div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-19756457365120127692018-04-22T12:30:00.000-05:002018-04-22T12:30:35.440-05:00A real page-turner <br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Francesca da Rimini</i> was on the menu
last week. Tchaikovsky's infernal tone poem ranks low on my list of
favorites, not only for its predictable harmonies and ear-crushing
orchestration, but also because the edition we play from, the only
imprint of the piece I've ever seen, is particularly bad. The
editor's mistake of combining the cello and bass parts essentially
doubles the number of pages, since the two sections play separate
parts far more often than not, resulting in one bad page turn after
another. The brisk tempo of the <i>Allegro Vivo </i>sections insures that a
player barely has time to recover from one page turn before the next
arrives. So scarring has been the experience that for me, <i>The Divine
Comedy</i> evokes not the work of Dante, but describes the act of sitting on a double bass stool, having to get up to
turn another page every thirty six measures, all while </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">wearing a tailcoat.</span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In music, the 19<sup>th</sup> century
is mostly notable for the double bass virtuosi Domenico Dragonetti
and Giovanni Bottesini. Yet even with those formidable bassists
standing astride the era like a pair of musical colossi, the century
must be viewed as a period of f<span style="font-size: small;">ailed
promise and unrealized potential for their instrument. Yet it began
with so much optimism. The late symphonies of Beethoven assigned
increasingly important roles to the bass line, culminating with a
truly independent contrabass voice in the <i>Ode to Joy</i> of the 9</span><sup><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;">
symphony. The decoupling of the cello and bass parts in early
romantic music was initially greeted as hopeful sign that the double
bass might be on the verge of assuming a more important, independent
role in the orchestra. However, that brief period of optimism soon
gave way to </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Weltschmerz</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;">
as composers such as Richard Wagner took the recently emancipated
double bass and immediately conscripted it into a new kind of
servitude, shackling the instrument to the low brass section. By the
latter half of the century, <i>Francesca da Rimini</i>, along with</span> many similarly orchestrated pieces, represents a kind of nadir for the
double bass in the orchestra.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Unlike the eternally suffering lovers, Paolo and Francesca, the cello and bass parts of </span><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Francesca da Rimini</i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> cry out to be torn asunder. From the baroque era through the symphonies of Beethoven and Schubert, a combined part for cellos and basses makes sense as the instruments play the same part far more often than not. Beyond the middle of the nineteenth century, depending on the composer, a separate double bass part becomes the norm. Simply as a practical matter, once the cello and bass lines diverge beyond a certain point, having two separate parts notated on individual staves becomes more of a liability than an asset when layout and pagination are considered, which makes the editorial decision to combine the cello and bass parts of </span><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Francesca da Rimini</i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> so unfortunate. There is also the ulterior motive that, beside the fact bassists don't need to see the cello part in order to keep their place, a certain amount of shame attends having our colleagues see how little we are doing behind them.</span></div>
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<br />Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-43382770571705351512018-04-08T12:55:00.002-05:002018-04-08T12:57:19.628-05:00Party Like It's 1893<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In
years past, announcement of the schedule of concerts for a new
season has sometimes been cause for great anticipation and optimism,
while at other times it has provided motivation for me to double
check the status of my retirement portfolio. This year, I decided to
take a more dispassionate, data-centered approach to news of the
2018-2019 season<sup><span style="font-size: xx-small;">1</span></sup> by making a list of every work scheduled
to be performed, including the year of composition, duration, number
of performances, as well as a few details about the composer, and
then seeing what the data had to say about it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
made a few choices about what not to include. Tour repertoire tends
to be even more repetitive than the season as a whole and, if I had
to guess, is also more conservative. Since tour programs don't
represent what we offer our hometown audience, I felt justified in
leaving those programs out of the data set. I also omitted the
so-called Film Nights, although they occupy two full weeks of next
season, plus a number of performances interpolated into otherwise
'normal' weeks. I just don't feel those qualify as concerts, and I
certainly didn't feel like counting <i>Star Wars</i>, <i>Harry Potter</i>, and the
like, as 20<sup>th</sup> or 21<sup>st</sup> century music, so those
didn't make the list. Besides those choices, anything offered as
part of a subscription concert (minus the Star Spangled Banner) was included, as were the free outdoor
concert and the Symphony Ball. Repertoire from concerts billed as
Members of the <b>{redacted}</b>SO or from educational programs was not
included.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
used timings provided in our season schedule, which, I believe,
are based on past performances. Actual performance times can vary
wildly, depending who is on the podium. (We recently completed
performances of a work listed in our schedule at 51 minutes that came
in at about 65 minutes every night.) For new works, and others for
which no timing was given, I made estimates based on a total concert
time of 120 minutes. Seemingly reliable dates of composition were
readily available online for most pieces. Where there was some
question about the completion date, I tried to defer to the last year
a piece had been worked on. In the case of arrangements, such as the
Brahms/Schoenberg Piano Quartet, the Ives arrangements by Schuman and
Adams, I chose the date of the arrangement. I freely admit to a
couple of guesstimates. Vivaldi Piccolo concerto? 1729 sounds good
to me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
list I compiled came to 325 performances of 104 pieces by 57
different composers, all in all, about 157 hours of music.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here
are a few fun facts about the upcoming season.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Party
Like It's 1893</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Confirming
my suspicion that we are somewhat behind the times, the median year
of composition for pieces scheduled to be performed next season
turned out to be 1893. President Cleveland is welcome in the
auditorium any time. I have no idea how this compares to past
seasons, but my feeling is that, as orchestral time runs slower than
normal time, we are gradually falling further and further behind.
I'm still hoping that, before I retire sometime in the 21</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">st</sup><span style="text-align: justify;">
century, we abandon our 18</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">th</sup><span style="text-align: justify;"> century dress code, to
mention one thing.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Better
off dead?</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Of
the 57 composers, 6<sup><span style="font-size: xx-small;">2</span></sup> were alive at the time of this
writing, their pieces receiving 18 of the 325 performances. About 4 of the 157
hours of music scheduled for next season was written by someone who
still has a pulse. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">I'm praying for all of their continued good health.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
winners are</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mozart - 32 performances of 10 different pieces.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brahms - 20 performances of 6 different pieces.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">One
hit wonders</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(composers with only one performance)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Johann
Strauss Jr</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Josef
Strauss</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Puccini</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
that last one is a real shocker. The first two, not so much.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Year
of the Woman? Think again.</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Performances
of works by female composers, 0.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Alex
Ross had a nice comment on this.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">One
index of backward thinking is a lack of female composers. If an
orchestra is programming few female composers, it is almost certainly
playing little new music, since any serious consideration of the
music of our time would have to include a large number of women.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Composer(s)
of color</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">William
Grant Still</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mind
the Gaps</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Repertoire
spans the period 1729 – 2019. The longest gap between pieces is 32
years (1741-1773), separating the Handel </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Messiah
</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">and Mozart s</span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>ymphony
25</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">, more or less a concession that the
orchestra rarely dips its toe into the Baroque or early classical
eras anymore. From 1773 and 1969 there is never a gap of more than 10
years between pieces, although the interval between the Chopin </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Piano
concerto </i></span><span style="font-size: small;">(1830) and Wagner </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Rienzi
</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">(1840) is just that. As expected, most of the
action happens around the end of the 19</span><sup><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup><sup><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;">century and the beginning of the 20</span><sup><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;">.
Although the current decade is represented by three new works, the
lack of music from the recent past comes as more of a disappointment
than a surprise. Lately, I'm wondering how much of music appreciation
involves nostalgia. Since there needs to be a certain passage of time
before nostalgia takes hold, the recent past is relatively
unattractive in a nostalgic sense. One would hate to think of music
programmers as being enamored of the latest shiny bauble, like the
spoiled child who, upon receiving a new toy at every occasion,
quickly loses interest in the previous acquisitions and shoves them
into a closet to molder, forgotten.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The gaps in programming became more obvious when I grouped the repertoire by decade. (y-axis is number of performances)</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">There
is a twenty year gap between the Schuman 9</span><sup style="font-style: normal;">th</sup> Symphony
(1969) and the Adams arrangement of Ives <i>At the River</i> (1989), and
then another twenty years to Daugherty's <i>Letters to Mrs Bixby</i> (2009).
Nothing from the 1970s, or 1990s, and virtually nothing from the
'80s or the '00s. In fact, since the Adams/Ives is an arrangement by
one composer of an earlier arrangement by another, one could make the
argument that the real gap is an astonishing 40 years, 1969 – 2009.
To pile on with the bleak news, Adams/Ives, Daugherty, as well as
Corigliano's <i>One sweet Morning</i>, are all short vocal pieces, meaning
that all of the repertoire from 1970 – 2016 totals about 15 minutes
of music.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
recently premiered a commissioned work, a fine piece by my colleague
Max Raimi. In spite of a good reception from the public, musicians,
and, crucially, the Music Director, one wonders if the piece will suffer the same fate as so many of our commissions and world
premiers and never be heard in our hall again. Perhaps, as part of the
commission process, the orchestra could commit to more than one
performance, maybe 3 over 5 years, or some similar arrangement.
(Certainly, in case the submitted work was truly execrable, some sort
of veto process could be included.) As so many of our
much-ballyhooed commissioned or premiered works receive one
performance before disappearing without a trace, I often find myself
imagining a group of laborers on lunch break in a Belfast shipyard,
circa 1913. Remember that ship we launched last year? What was is
called? Titanic, or something, name escapes me. Wonder what became
of that? Shrugging, they turn back to building the next boat.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">1
the 'downtown' season, concerts at {redacted} between September 20,
2018 and June 29, 2019</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">2
includes John Adams, arranger of Ives, At the River</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-45220060283054802072018-03-23T12:13:00.000-05:002018-03-23T12:13:25.473-05:00Raising the dead<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i>...links</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
A few years ago I embarked on a project
to record a set of six Sonatas by Benedetto Marcello. A small but
very unfortunate accident was a major factor in my never completing
the set. The hard drive with six as yet unreleased movements crashed
– actually fell off the dolly with all my equipment and shattered
on a cement floor – taking with it the final two movements of
Sonata IV and all of Sonata V. After such a setback, it was
difficult metaphorically as well as literally to pick up the pieces
and go on. Also, the recording process, where I would load both of
my instruments and all my recording gear into a car and drive to an
undisclosed location, usually in the middle of the night, to make the
recordings, had become increasingly burdensome, so I went on to other
things.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Quite some time ago now, someone
informed me the links to the audio files no longer worked, and,
indeed, when I checked, the file hosting service I had been using was
long ago defunct. I was content to leave it at that until recently
someone else accused me of deception or trickery, implying that the
disappearance of the audio content had somehow been arranged on
purpose, as away to hide my shame. In
defense of my honor and, paradoxically, at the risk of losing it
again quickly by re-exposing these recordings to public scrutiny, I
feel I have no choice but to make them available.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
It is
natural to occasionally entertain doubts about one's path in life,
specifically as related to one's choice of profession. From my
perspective, near the top of the list of occupational hazards, right
below being forced to look at photographs of myself, would be
listening to recordings of my playing, which has made this endeavor
particularly difficult.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Below
are links to all of the relevant posts, with links to audio files
(hopefully) intact.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part.html">Part01</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_25.html">Part02</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_26.html">Part03</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_29.html">Part04</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-05.html">Part05</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-06.html">Part06</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-07.html">Part07</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part.html">Part08</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part.html">Part09</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_08.html">Part10</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_23.html">Part11</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_25.html">Part12</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/07/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part.html">Part13</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/07/marcello-sonatas-recording-project-part_24.html">Part14</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-44012388996235246062018-03-06T23:38:00.000-06:002018-03-06T23:45:21.906-06:004 + 4 = 7Some weeks the best strategy is to
close one's eyes and to think, if not of England, at least about
double bass fingerings. <br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
On background, and for those unfamiliar
with the peculiarities of the instrument, apart from its size, the
most distinctive difference between the double bass and the other
stringed instruments of the orchestra is that, where the violin,
viola, and cello tune in fifths, their larger relative tunes in
fourths. This seemingly picayune difference actually represents a
broad chasm, for although both are classified as 'perfect' intervals,
fourths are actually a bit less pure than their 'goody-two-shoes'
inversion, the fifth, which can almost do no wrong, harmonically
speaking. On the other hand, the so-called 'perfect' fourth, with
its checkered past, is actually considered dissonant in some cases.
Imagine the dilemma suffered by bassists as they awake each morning
wondering whether or not their strings are tuned consonantly or
dissonantly! There are a number of reasons that the tuning in
fourths became standard for the double bass. Certainly the longer
string length made keeping the open strings closer together in pitch
an attractive option. The smaller interval between strings makes for
less shifting in step-wise passages; unfortunately, in this scheme
larger intervals become farther apart. Tradition, or ancestry, might
have played an even more important role, as the double bass inherited
the tuning, along with some of its physical characteristics, from its
forefathers in the Viol family. In fact, the modern double bass owes
so much to its ancestors, the gentle, largely forgotten Viols, that
while the violin, viola, and cello might truly be considered
siblings, the double bass is, at best, a distant cousin. Now that
modern science has revealed the persistence of Neanderthal DNA in
modern humans, it is interesting to surreptitiously glance at
passers-by in search of echoes from our prehistoric past. Prominent
brow? Weak chin? Elongated skull? Concert goers might avail
themselves of a similar opportunity and glance over at the double
basses, making note of the sloped shoulders, flat backs (I'm
referring to the instruments here, not the players.), smooth C bouts,
and so on, relics from a bygone era, eking out an existence on the
fringes of the modern orchestra.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Discussion of Double Bass technique and
pedagogy can have all the fun and fascination of comparing the
hairstyles of Byzantine emperors. So, for the purpose at hand here,
it is probably sufficient to note that most modern-day bassists
in the orchestra use a technique where (in the first octave on each
string) a 'hand position' spans two semi-tones, in other words, a
whole-step. This span, taken across two strings, equals a perfect
fifth, across three, an octave.
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><br /></strike></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPXUMVCW_gtUtoOAXINqgnJu6NQPxB1VSE6_fMivuU5d-gEtinJd2YgoVwHZ59S3NzpmnTjmBCJK0qVo5FI4UtgA8j07TUiwZGYomwDrZ-yUvtOG31aTFtpcPkSENExLLXE0XLC2224Xa/s1600/Mendelssohn01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="1600" height="43" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPXUMVCW_gtUtoOAXINqgnJu6NQPxB1VSE6_fMivuU5d-gEtinJd2YgoVwHZ59S3NzpmnTjmBCJK0qVo5FI4UtgA8j07TUiwZGYomwDrZ-yUvtOG31aTFtpcPkSENExLLXE0XLC2224Xa/s320/Mendelssohn01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Intervals larger than a whole-step
require a shift, string crossing, or some sort of 'extended'
technique. Incidentally, and perhaps counter-intuitively, in my
experience one of the most problematic intervals to deal with is the
perfect forth. To play this interval, like all those larger than a
whole-step, requires a shift, string crossing, or some sort of
creative solution, with problems arising from the fact that, as the
two notes lie directly across the string from each other, they must
be barred (played with the same finger stopping two strings), or the
hand angled so that a different finger may be used for each note, or
the same finger can 'jump' across the strings (at the cost of legato
phrasing), or else a string crossing and a shift can be used in
conjunction. Stack two perfect fourths one atop the other and you
get a minor seventh. (Yes, in music four and four make seven, one of
the more minor annoyances.) The problems playing the minor seventh
are those of the perfect fourth, compounded, which brings us to this
passage from the latter third of the Finale of the Mendelssohn fourth
symphony, measures 222-230. From the audience, you might notice the
hands of the double bassists playing this passage on one string
suddenly moving in agitated fashion in order to make all of the small
shifts, up and down, like the needle of a sewing machine, or
something else, altogether more embarrassing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="1600" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIW1a8_EqVkjsaMvOXyRchtAqcOQmqtuEES6TIIx8rGOT48MCHfh0gFQsx-wHB3Cq3qbNqn89jMgUeOdsNsfWYE92l6z8O6lmaSYkw-F-_EfPfBRkSraiwdBHhRgdHPIqgeaRqBTW7W4q/s400/Mendelssohn10.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Apart from requiring many small shifts,
the biggest problem here is the minor seventh at m. 223</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tqRJG6z8u4knGWpwRmKU2rwcO4YH0abty9Ro_sQv-V8NGBLY5gOXG1O3PjxszxYNnL-E8ngMBl4b1bsz2FEXLBI7lr9uhUbqnsNzkK1VoctBqT_ZgW0qcZbd9Xw5ZTv-gRjwytENdRrD/s1600/Mendelssohn03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="1115" height="68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tqRJG6z8u4knGWpwRmKU2rwcO4YH0abty9Ro_sQv-V8NGBLY5gOXG1O3PjxszxYNnL-E8ngMBl4b1bsz2FEXLBI7lr9uhUbqnsNzkK1VoctBqT_ZgW0qcZbd9Xw5ZTv-gRjwytENdRrD/s200/Mendelssohn03.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br />
N.B. If the 'D' is played on the 'G'
(top) string, the 'E' on the adjacent string is about nine inches
away, measured on one of my instruments – certainly a stretch to
aspire to, but beyond the bounds of most normal human anatomy, and a
long way to travel between two notes at the rapid tempo of the
<i>Saltarello</i>. Of course, taking the two notes on the second and
third strings is also possible. This distance measured on my bass at
about six inches – a stretch certainly attainable by the average
hand – but generating a number of additional problems, not least of
which is the muddiness of tone which results from playing high notes
on low strings. The solution I arrived at
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33oCu9cX-9dczHztUzplrFQH1eun5S4AummwqU_4gIA33w64JKXgRjmfZ59lY5rHlOXNwc27rNZcmL2BixAzRyUUy1Fp7KtSQbLEkU6twHbQWPCGcLPRYip6T7bsqQkS4uhYoP-Wlynx3/s1600/Mendelssohn04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="1300" height="73" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33oCu9cX-9dczHztUzplrFQH1eun5S4AummwqU_4gIA33w64JKXgRjmfZ59lY5rHlOXNwc27rNZcmL2BixAzRyUUy1Fp7KtSQbLEkU6twHbQWPCGcLPRYip6T7bsqQkS4uhYoP-Wlynx3/s200/Mendelssohn04.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
seems a little less preposterous
when taken in the context of what I wanted to do from m. 225</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzgrFte8nCdrPbmBVfHNlplB5SGLhyiBHJyDREoQnNhoOd9_WyjFagm2C4OriGZzinwoEYnYuvoJaGG9TNb509OWEThdwsoJBsTa7C_JllB_vioyZbJVrtzYHvZtZzxWBlFpPox4TIFmw/s1600/Mendelssohn06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="1600" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzgrFte8nCdrPbmBVfHNlplB5SGLhyiBHJyDREoQnNhoOd9_WyjFagm2C4OriGZzinwoEYnYuvoJaGG9TNb509OWEThdwsoJBsTa7C_JllB_vioyZbJVrtzYHvZtZzxWBlFpPox4TIFmw/s400/Mendelssohn06.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br />
This fingering eliminates many shifts
(only one after the third beat of m. 225) while adding a number of
string crossings. Lately, I've become enamored of fingerings that
let me leave my fingers down as long as possible. In performance, I
'bailed out' early and went back to first position in m. 227</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRPaL21Peo9FzVowsx0dzVc8F3gAXXxLbIFI2Jj6vNsVz8TSO4LeXkBGt4zkIpxl9-THR77Vgh49OQDHGfVEY33JunfZDBaHMcXXw9AKWsA8GPxq3r_yLN54PAqLHMw6h8seTfHfHKPb9/s1600/Mendelssohn07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="231" data-original-width="1600" height="57" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRPaL21Peo9FzVowsx0dzVc8F3gAXXxLbIFI2Jj6vNsVz8TSO4LeXkBGt4zkIpxl9-THR77Vgh49OQDHGfVEY33JunfZDBaHMcXXw9AKWsA8GPxq3r_yLN54PAqLHMw6h8seTfHfHKPb9/s400/Mendelssohn07.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Like certain interpersonal
relationships, getting into thumb position is easier than than
getting out, so you have to pick your spots carefully. Here is then is the complete passage,
with a decent alternative for mm. 225-226 below.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnORkhyphenhyphenoOut2Pqgjtj3olBVMcR4CxmfPSbAdZQTpDcuZdKcDkxdrdzcJQ9fz15lQWiKJ98X2lsUPRkda5Ii_S90OxffSLn7b-uMC2Rlpd6NI97LSy0VBY5Im-MXCJ97uOnaEDxjS5gBX1e/s1600/Mendelssohn08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnORkhyphenhyphenoOut2Pqgjtj3olBVMcR4CxmfPSbAdZQTpDcuZdKcDkxdrdzcJQ9fz15lQWiKJ98X2lsUPRkda5Ii_S90OxffSLn7b-uMC2Rlpd6NI97LSy0VBY5Im-MXCJ97uOnaEDxjS5gBX1e/s1600/Mendelssohn08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="1600" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnORkhyphenhyphenoOut2Pqgjtj3olBVMcR4CxmfPSbAdZQTpDcuZdKcDkxdrdzcJQ9fz15lQWiKJ98X2lsUPRkda5Ii_S90OxffSLn7b-uMC2Rlpd6NI97LSy0VBY5Im-MXCJ97uOnaEDxjS5gBX1e/s400/Mendelssohn08.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnORkhyphenhyphenoOut2Pqgjtj3olBVMcR4CxmfPSbAdZQTpDcuZdKcDkxdrdzcJQ9fz15lQWiKJ98X2lsUPRkda5Ii_S90OxffSLn7b-uMC2Rlpd6NI97LSy0VBY5Im-MXCJ97uOnaEDxjS5gBX1e/s1600/Mendelssohn08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU-Usru6dMgn2bvDeOqa0xVNNPHMpv4nbERhs_Onvp-cQMEuCk2GRpGD0hp4hUmIZ2L8AMw3imrnL6g-H3KF_oif4UNBmQGpEz-yRjS9YoNC6DoYr8s85kn2KX9bMWQRHbRYP7MejXvcv/s1600/Mendelssohn09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="1600" height="35" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU-Usru6dMgn2bvDeOqa0xVNNPHMpv4nbERhs_Onvp-cQMEuCk2GRpGD0hp4hUmIZ2L8AMw3imrnL6g-H3KF_oif4UNBmQGpEz-yRjS9YoNC6DoYr8s85kn2KX9bMWQRHbRYP7MejXvcv/s200/Mendelssohn09.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsE-mvHzlcZTEbB2MFQBSRMTlESJa_TrbdR74lXWobD_BKDZhtRn4MG4ujyO7OrWgjUaztOMx6H5_Qtz0xDwGay18Q9h7pmMSYiz5jWYmhXVOrBlSjltL3BD3HB6BlzttpvM4rGfqJiYO/s1600/Mendelssohn09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-429471528058470582018-02-18T00:38:00.000-06:002018-02-18T01:01:59.576-06:00Once more unto the breach<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><br /></em><br />
<em>“Of course, you know this piece very
well.”</em> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
To the naïve or untrained observer, it
might appear that the Maestro beginning rehearsals with such a
compliment is off to a good start. However, this bit of flattery
clangs off the ears of the hardened orchestral musician like a
dropped mute, especially when it serves as the prelude to, maybe even
an apology in advance for hours, perhaps even days, spent in a
painstaking vivisection of the repertoire on offer. Indeed, in this
context 'knowing the piece very well' is often coded language for
received wisdom, the accumulation of error, or of a misguided
tradition, which the conductor is about to sweep away with a number
of well chosen words, leaving in its place something cleaner, more
authentic, an ur-interpretation of what was once naively thought
familiar. The empty promises ring hollow when brought up against the
reality of the limited allotment of rehearsal time, not to mention
the hubris of feeling oneself capable of knocking down an edifice in
order to build a brand new castle-in-the-air during a few hours of
rehearsal. Many times, when unrealistic expectations manifest
themselves as inadequate preparation, it is this disdained
'knowledge' of the orchestra that saves a foundering performance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
To claim an orchestra knows a piece
very well is a multifaceted assertion, but one which essentially
boils down to an acknowledgment that the orchestra, as a group, knows
how to execute a good performance on its own, with minimal guidance
(sometimes even in the face of malevolence or gross negligence) from
the podium. Obviously, this knowledge includes each individual
player's mastery of their instrument, but further extends to
familiarity with the other parts, which, in a practical sense, and in
this context most importantly, means knowing what to listen for, how
to respond to it, and how to incorporate that into the physical act
of performing. This knowledge is pragmatic, visceral as well as
intellectual; it is the accretion of all the player's experiences,
numerous trials and errors over many years, triumphs, train-wrecks,
hours spent in rehearsal, in practice, in listening, and for some,
even in contemplation. </div>
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Just as merely attending a few lectures
on human anatomy, reading a few textbooks, perhaps observing a
dissection, might not make a person a good lover, listening to a
conductor talk about music is not necessarily the best route to a
good performance. The better conductors seem to understand how to
balance the mechanistic with the spiritual when it comes to spending
precious rehearsal time, acknowledging that, much like one's personal
hygiene, the knowledge of the orchestra, in its visceral and
practical sense, requires a certain amount of repeated, sometimes
unpleasant, usually unglamorous, attention. </div>
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At one end of the spectrum is the
conductor who relies too heavily on the knowledge of the orchestra, merely
waving arms around and accepting whatever happens. Like the
charlatan baker, who, having an order for a birthday cake canceled,
merely scrapes off the frosted inscription and presents the cake to
the next unsuspecting customer, this conductor adds little to the
orchestra's store of knowledge, but instead cashes in on the work of
others. This Maestro's appearance on the podium is a sort of nightly
stage dive, where the orchestra, in possession of a sense of dignity,
not to mention professionalism, along with the inability to take
spontaneous collective action, catches him or her every time. The
antipode of such a Maestro is, at the 'highest level' of the
profession, more common, and, by most musicians, considered at least
somewhat insufferable, namely, the incessant talker, the Maestro who
does not leave enough rehearsal time for the orchestra to actually
put into practice the myriad ideas presented. Perhaps as symptom of
encroaching age, I find that, although I'm often scratching my head,
trying to figure out how what is being said is going to help the
week's performance, I have more patience for the talkative Maestro
than some of my colleagues. Yes, the boyhood reminiscences, or what
some far-flung critic had to say about a long-forgotten performance
are odious, but other podium offerings make me happy to 'learn as I
earn' - the steps to the l<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ä</span>ndler,
for instance, or the difference between an Austrian and a German
military march (or at least the fact that such a difference exists -
interesting how many Austrians I've met who are at pains to point out
the most subtle discrepancies between themselves and Germans), these
may not be the most important things in the moment, certainly not
from my particular corner of the orchestra, but they are interesting,
and, year in year out, add to the collective wisdom of the orchestra.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The conductor, like the doctor who sees
serious malady and does nothing, should be discouraged. Similarly,
his counterpart, the well-meaning, overzealous ideologue whose first
impulse is to immediately euthanize the patient and set about
effecting a resurrection, should be gently dissuaded. Each Maestro
who takes the podium leaves a mark, contributing to the orchestra's
collective wisdom. The orchestra, out of necessity, and as a
survival instinct, prioritizes pragmatism, and in so doing can be
somewhat ruthless in dismissing otherwise well-meaning conductors.
However, from a player's perspective, the steps to making a positive
contribution, and to avoid becoming a cautionary tale, seem to be
obvious, yet somehow illusive.</div>
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<br /></div>
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***</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<em>I would like to take this opportunity
to thank the various readers of the Bass Blog, both colleagues and people
unknown to me, who have contacted me during my lengthy hiatus. Your
inquiries as to the fate of the Blog, not to mention my own
well-being, have been greatly appreciated. I thank you for your
enduring patience with this self-destructive hobby of mine. Of course, due to my
contrarian nature, those who expressed pleasure at the disappearance
of the Blog, and wished for its continued non-existence, provided the
ultimate motivating factor in my decision to resurrect it.
</em></div>
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Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-26339011196092573452016-03-12T00:42:00.000-06:002016-03-12T00:47:33.498-06:00The {redacted}SO Receives Boos<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>sort of</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Boor</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">1) a churlish, rude, or unmannerly person</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Booer</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">1) a person who boos</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sir Mark Elder's talk preceding our performance of the Elgar Symphony no. 1, performed here for the first time in 33 years, was briefly accompanied by an odd noise, which I at first mistook for an audience member having some sort of physical problem, but which was soon revealed to be guttural evidence of extreme disgruntlement. The speech, laudable for its cogent advocacy of this neglected masterpiece as well as its relative brevity, was immediately followed by some lustily delivered “Boos” from a single, loudly dissatisfied customer somewhere high up in the balcony. We have been booed before, certainly, and I've commented on it, a couple times (<a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/boo.html">here,</a> and <a href="http://csobassblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/rex-tremendae.html">here</a>, for anyone interested), but always at the end of a musical performance. This was a first, in my experience, where a conductor's remarks prompted a vocal display of displeasure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Generally, I'm pro booing – the whole freedom of expression thing, you know. Also, it is heartening when someone is moved enough by what we do to break with the convention of offering polite applause to everything and instead chooses to express themselves forcefully, even in the negative. And finally, one of my happiest student memories comes from the Spoleto Festival, where, on my night off, I attended the Opera performance specifically to boo, along with many Italians I hasten to add, every aria sung by the awful tenor who had been bedeviling me all summer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">At an orchestral concert, the post performance boo contains enough ambiguity in its target – the composition, conductor, soloist, one or more of my colleagues, certainly never me! – to give everyone on stage some degree of plausible deniability. It is this ambiguity which also prevents many boos from ever materializing in the first place. Audience members have informed me that, although they might have objected to one aspect of a performance, they refrained from booing out of respect for the innocent. Also, when mixed in with the normal, perfunctory applause, the virulence of any one, or group of booers, is greatly attenuated. With everybody's opinions mixed together, the negative ones are largely drowned out. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The case in question here is a little different. Clearly, Maestro Elder was the sole target of the outburst, as the rest of us on stage were sitting there doing nothing. The content of his remarks, in spite of some florid language describing Elgar and his first symphony, seemed blandly inoffensive to me. However, I admit that, in the current climate where people resort to outrage first and ask questions later (know anyone like that?), I might have missed some seemly innocuous micro-aggression. Perhaps mention of the knighted composer's famous mustache caused some folliclearly challenged person's blood to boil, who knows. If the booer meant to voice a general opposition to pre-performance commentary, a better time to do it might have been the moment the hated microphone made its appearance. The boos, barely covered by the smattering of applause normal after most podium delivered remarks, created an atmosphere of nervous agitation in the auditorium completely at odds with the quiet serenity with which symphony begins, and so did more to mar the coming performance than add any useful commentary on what had come before. The time to boo the composition or the performance, of course, would have been after. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Maestro Elder, an earnest and likeable fellow, qualities it might shock the reader to discover are not representative of every podium climber, seemed briefly taken aback by the unexpected reaction to his preamble, but quickly put it behind him, literally, as he turned to face the orchestra. From there, the performance went on without incident, becoming yet one more in our improbable unbroken string of musical triumphs. After, one of my colleagues reminded me of another time when words rather than music received an audible negative reaction – a Beyond the Score presentation of the Shostakovitch 4th symphony back in 2006, where an audience member with pro Stalinist sympathies grew tired of hearing discouraging words said about the former USSR leader and started heckling. (“I didn't come to hear lies,” or something like it is part of what he called out.) It's possible the same gentleman returned to celebrate the tenth anniversary of his patriotic defense of the motherland, although rumor had it he was declared <i>persona non grata </i>back in '06. The conductor for that performance? None other than Sir Mark Elder. Strange! </span></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-54043988753549249412016-02-28T13:27:00.004-06:002016-02-28T14:27:13.270-06:00The New Traditionalists<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My New Year's resolution: to blog more often, perhaps even on a semi-regular basis. Since I follow the lunar calendar, I don't consider late February to be too late a start.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(click to embiggen the images)</span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Orchestra musicians exist in a milieu rich with traditions, some of which are ennobling, many of which are stultifying. One of my favorites, and not at all in the sarcastic sense, has to be the way our bass section plays the passage above, which occurs near the end of the Tchaikowsky 6<sup>th</sup> Symphony. </span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;">I've highlighted the 2nd and 4th horn parts, marked fortissimo and </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; orphans: 1;">gestopft</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;"> (stopped), which is that brassy, deliciously nasty sound produced by stuffing a hand into the bell. The arrows show the double bass part holding a low F-sharp (which sounds one octave below the written pitch). The first time I played the piece with the </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;"><b>{redacted}</b></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;">SO, I was bemused to notice everyone else in the section changing bows during the long note in sync with the horns, perhaps even adding in a bit of </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; orphans: 1;">sforzato </i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;">(accent) for good measure. My stand partner, who had already been in the orchestra many years by that point, leaned over and sheepishly confessed that when he got in the orchestra, all of 'the old-timers' played that way, so he joined in and had continued to do so ever since.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; orphans: 1;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Completely separate from the question of whether or not this is a good idea, I find myself thoroughly enjoying doing my part to maintain this unwritten tradition – the parts have never been so marked; and, in fact, 'institutionalizing' such a thing would most probably take all the fun out of it. Since, for whatever reason, our section tends to ideologically skew even more towards the bureaucratically minded than the orchestra as a whole, it is refreshing to see something unscripted see the light of day every now and again.</span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This week, we came as close as I've ever seen to a conductor acknowledging the practice, and perhaps even encouraging it. Manfred Honeck, filling in for the absent Music Director, had much to say about the Tchaikovsky 6th, too much, if an informal canvassing of colleagues is to be taken seriously. Arriving at the passage in question, he exhorted the horns to play the stopped note more loudly. Then, if I'm not mistaken, he turned slightly to the right and invited the trombones and tuba (who are holding a sustained F-sharp along with the basses) to help out, if they cared too. In the bass section there was a slight stirring among those who were still at that point A) awake, and B) paying attention, with the realization we might also be officially invited to join in, but alas, there was nary a mention of it directed toward us. As far as that passage goes, it's still don't ask, don't tell for now.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The many things performers do to interpret works, from the radical overhauling of the composer's intent, to the mundane, nuts and bolts adjustments needed to make even some of the greatest 'masterpieces' intelligible, makes an for some interesting pondering. I've often thought a novel form of protest, should performers ever need to resort to such a thing, might be a kind of 'work to rule', wherein we played exactly what was in the score and waited to see how long such a thing was tolerated by the listening public.</span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The sort of lazy literalism one can fall into as a performer was debunked one time in humorous fashion. The composer, Krzystof Penderecki was on the podium, conducting one of his works. (The Polish Requiem? Memory escapes me.) He wanted a certain musician to play something louder. Perhaps momentarily forgetting who was on the podium, the musician replied “But my part says mezzo-forte,” to which Penderecki replied, “But I am still alive!”</span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-85351442138917567332015-10-21T09:13:00.001-05:002015-10-25T11:59:11.069-05:00You're so vain<br />
<i>you probably think this blog is about you</i><br />
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The (poorly taken) photo is from Wall Drug in South Dakota. The sign behind the “Cowboy Orchestra”<span style="text-align: justify;">reads: “Our drugstore musicians ain't heard o' Petrillo. They play </span>just for the thrillo.” (Note how their working conditions were unilaterally changed by management.) This is either a pretty old sign, or an extremely inside joke. I wonder how many folks who look at that know about James Petrillo?<br />
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Taken during my sabbatical last year, the photo seems all the more apropos lately since our contract was up for renegotiation this fall. Happily, after a few tense weeks an agreement was reached and everything is all smiles and bonhomie around the concert hall. Contract time is interesting to me mostly for its rhetorical excess – the pleas of poverty from management set against the claims that classical music is a priceless asset, as necessary to human survival as air and water. While the truth most probably lies somewhere in between, I feel that as a musician, albeit a cynical one, my bet is that the deep pockets are even more unfathomable than the mysterious powers of music. I'm waiting to see the bottom of one, or the top of the other, with no real hope of glimpsing either before my career ends.<br />
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It is interesting that (at least at times other than during contract negotiations) management occasionally buys into what I think of as the myth of 'The Transformational Power of Music', which I would describe as the belief that some needy individuals, whether deprived of freedom, opportunity, or even the material necessities of life, might be changed profoundly through exposure to a concert of classical music. Then, of course, the coffers open and the funding flows freely toward such a glamorous and an ennobling end. Certainly not the only instances, but among the more notable examples of an institution getting caught up in that idea are the two tours we've taken to Russia. I think both trips were undertaken, at least in part, as some sort of effort to spread the message of freedom through music. Although, during our first visit the U.S.S.R. was sounding its death rattle, I'm not convinced our performances had anything to do with its ultimate demise. Furthermore, trotting out an orchestra at some freedom-themed event always gives me a bit of a chuckle. If anything, the orchestra resembles, at best, a dictatorship in miniature (if occasionally even a benign one), and at worst, a dystopian, bureaucratic nightmare. I wonder how many strongmen or plutocrats who attend these concerts secretly lean back in their chairs with a feeling of self-satisfaction, seeing in the orchestra more affirmation than threat. Meanwhile the common citizen, for whom the music might offer solace, a balm against suffering, or even stir the heart to action, is nowhere to be seen, unable to afford a ticket.<br />
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When the Berlin Wall fell, with the obligatory triumphalist Beethoven's Ninth staged in the rubble, the cynic in me grumbled that if music really had such a transformational power, why didn't somebody put the orchestra there before the collapse, perhaps bringing it about years earlier? As a performer, it can be frustrating when the tail wags the dog, when symbolism Trumps the music, because musicians know that music really does have a transformational power. The little boy who, upon hearing the Schubert C major Symphony, threw down his crutches and walked, or the dictator who listened to the Missa Solemnis, wept and opened the doors to his prisons – I suppose these sorts of things might actually happen, but with such a vanishingly small probability that belief in them is essentially hokum, like trying to start a campfire by assembling the kindling then waiting for lightning to strike it. The transformational power of music is no myth, but I think it works in more subtle, certainly less direct ways. The showy, symbolic gestures our leaders sometimes fall in love with are wonderful, sometimes expensive, spectacles, which I grudgingly admit also have their place and their function. But music is most powerful as an element of culture when it becomes a part of people's day-today existence. I would go so far to say that music has more power when it is ordinary than when it is extraordinary. And, of course, the orchestra <i>was </i>there long before the Wall came down. The Berlin Philharmonic made its home for many years within a stone's throw of it. The many concerts given there, and the vibrancy of cultural life in the west had more power than any one-off concert could achieve, however glamorous. The real triumph was in the 'mundane' task of supporting a world class ensemble in a difficult environment – paying a wage that would attract the finest players, and making certain musicians would have the wherewithal to provide for the health and welfare of their families. Nothing particularly glamorous or mythical about that.<br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-60816237383377787682015-08-08T12:17:00.005-05:002015-08-09T18:00:49.058-05:00Cannon Fodder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdT4dLPchWZu6e6C9X8eUx0GuAeZiZx7WIdBvsNinMYVNl4O7W4MqTP5WyZQciM0aCFbHjPqXybqhRDUBKY8oytyvp86n-BJk1qyvJsHpwVw9EW5ETPOmIiVmKTb6kR2ba50E8exXCHLq/s1600/napoleon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdT4dLPchWZu6e6C9X8eUx0GuAeZiZx7WIdBvsNinMYVNl4O7W4MqTP5WyZQciM0aCFbHjPqXybqhRDUBKY8oytyvp86n-BJk1qyvJsHpwVw9EW5ETPOmIiVmKTb6kR2ba50E8exXCHLq/s400/napoleon.jpg" width="305" /></a></div>
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Last week, either by design, or like so
many things in this profession, by accident, the <b>{redacted}</b>SO at
Ravinia explored the quintessence of our summer music festival
experience. During the span of three concerts we performed a
Zemlinsky Tone Poem, a pair of war-horse concertos (which both turned
into white knuckle affairs), a Gala concert, that most American of
summer staples – an all Tchaikovsky Spectacular, and, where we
finally reached a kind of Waterloo, (insert <a href="http://www.sadtrombone.com/?autoplay=true">Sad Trombone</a> sound here)
a film night performance of the movie Gladiator. About the only
things missing were a major overtime boondoggle in favor of musicians
and the devastating thunderstorm, which arrived Sunday evening about
an hour too late to do anybody any good.</div>
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Alexander Zemlinsky, one of
the composers championed by our departing warm-weather music
director, makes the perfect mascot to represent the recent travails
of the <b>{redacted}</b>SO in our summer home. Alma Schindler's rejection
of a homely musical underdog in favor of the more handsome and
successful Gustav Mahler emblamizes the way classical music itself has
been jilted by our summer overlords in favor of the more appealing
(and lucrative) Broadway and Pop acts which are now the current
paramours of the festival brain trust. In the movies, the underdog
makes an improbable, if predictable, comeback, while in real life, the
weaker forces consult focus groups and audience surveys as they
continue to back-pedal, before finally declaring victory.</div>
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<span lang="en"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="en">Of course, the
apex, zenith, and nadir of any musical season is the gala concert,
which in summertime includes the added spectacle of seeing several
hundred very uncomfortable looking gentlemen strutting about in
ninety-degree heat wearing tuxedos. At least members of the smarter can sex resort to sleeveless or even strapless attire. A</span>
concert is really something when the most delicate playing from the
orchestra takes place during the Star Spangled Banner, but such was
the case in our Gala Tchaikovsky Spectacular. Maxim Vengerov, who
survived the violin concerto by sheer force of will and a seasoned
veteran's ability to keep his head down (and a straight face) during
the tutti sections, got the evening off to a roaring start, earning
bravos for, if nothing else, surviving salvo after salvo of in-artful
accompaniment. Advancing deeper into Russian territory, the
orchestral campaign stretched its supply-lines to common sense almost
to the breaking point and became bogged down during an overlong suite
from Swan Lake that evoked images more pachydermical than avian –
if there is anything less than fortissimo in that ballet, I'd love to
play it someday, but alas. In the end, the Grand Orchestral Army
marched on to its d<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">é</span>nouement
in that ode to the Musical-Industrial Complex, The 1812 Overture. I
guess it says something about a musical evening when the inevitable,
longed for conclusion, is the warm caress of the cannonball.</div>
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Just as the Grand Army of the French Republic found no rest after
its Pyrrhic conquest of Moscow, the mighty <b>{redacted}</b>SO, heads bowed
but spirits not yet completely broken by the aforementioned Gala
concert, had to return the very next evening for the Film Night
performance of Gladiator.</div>
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Hans Zimmer may very well be a great film composer. Gladiator may
very well be a great, or even competent film score. At this point in
my career (or perhaps just this summer) I think shell shock can be
attributed as significant cause to disqualify me as any kind of of
judge. I will say, however, there is a certain level of Dante's Hell
in which arguably one of the greatest orchestras in our time zone
sits idly by in ninety-plus-degree heat during rehearsal while a
conductor, in the monstrously erroneous belief he is earning kudos
for doing so, scratches his head and mulls over whether the
percussion section should be shaking a necklace made of Puka rather
than Cowry shells, or if the ratchet in use has thirty-six rather
than thirty-eight teeth, or if the baton used to strike the Taiko
drum is of Hinoki or Taro wood.</div>
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It seems as if these film night concerts are here to stay, which
isn't an entirely bad thing. Although Gladiator wasn't a sellout by
any stretch of the imagination, these type of concerts seem to be
popular even if the musical appeal of the selections is sometimes
pretty questionable. Making these the backbone of a symphonic season
might be questionable strategy as well. Using a pickup orchestra, or
what we call 'members of' (optional extra employment) would ensure a
happier orchestra – think of how much better a galley plies the
waves with free men at the oars rather than slaves – and it would
also free management from some of those pesky union rules about
weekly service counts and whatnot. Even Napoleon knew some things
are best handled by mercenaries.</div>
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P.S. As originally published, this post contained some language that was regrettably sexist and vulgar. My apologies.</div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-23803433782598588082015-07-27T16:54:00.000-05:002015-07-28T08:42:37.420-05:00A Fantastic Fingering<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Seeing a noted soloist return as a
conductor is not often cause for high hopes, whether the
transformation occurs after age has taken its toll on the playing, or
in mid career, ennui, or an inflated ego has inflamed the desire to
conquer a higher musical mountain. Although but a few steps, the
journey between the soloist's spot at the footlights and the podium
is a perilous road which has buried many a neophyte beneath an
avalanche of overwhelming details, thrown many an overeager yet
unprepared dilettante down into a hidden crevasse, or left many a
dabbler dawdling along the crisscrossing paths of interpretive
uncertainty.</div>
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With
these thoughts in the back of my mind, Nikolaj Znaider playing a
Mozart concerto and conducting <i>Symphonie fantastique</i> on the Ravinia
schedule looked like cause for concern. As if to confirm my worst
fears, when greeting the orchestra, his Israeli-tinged accent
immediately brought on a horrible, pit-of-the-stomach sinking
feeling, flashbacks to our own local <i>fin de si<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">è</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">cle</span></i>
malaise. Fortunately, he quickly dispelled those awful feelings with
his cheerful, warmhearted demeanor on the podium. After years of
trying to figure out the relationship between our winter and summer
managers, or if there is one at all – sometimes they seem to be
thumbing their noses at each-other, at others, they seem to be
ignoring each-other altogether – I've given up trying to figure
things out like why we had just played the Berlioz about two weeks
prior, during our annual week-long residency at a local arboretum.
(The two concerts were about forty miles apart. I wonder if
there is any overlap in audience.) Whatever the reason, I wouldn't
say the musicians were on the edge of their seats, eager to play the
piece again so soon. I might even say exactly the opposite was true.
But against all odds Znaider succeeded in making it a more or less
pleasant experience. Not the best performance we've ever given, but
he did some nice things, and I find him very likeable.</div>
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(Non bassists should consider stopping
at this point.)</div>
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<i>Symphonie fantastique </i>has a bunch
of fun passages for the double basses, a few of which even make it
onto audition lists from time to time – <i>Marche au supplice</i>, <i>Sc</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>ène
au champs</i>, </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Ronde
du Sabbat</i>, and the excerpt below, which is from what I'd guess one
might call the development section of the first movement, <i>Rêveries –
Passions</i>. The fingering dates back to my student days, and it's
either a very good fingering, or else I'm very lazy, because I've
never changed it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUUi5BJ6cyY0V8BP15X0zZdq5Dx0SaGV62tEDYEaqVF9DyuiNZB4V-IKb1-sEjBpOOeRP07Ihyphenhyphen9FlXzZ3HU-lED7SBEQUFjP5h5Omcmp7Z0BC7psG-MuU_om7r7QmPPavOMUA66UoerCC/s1600/Berlioz01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUUi5BJ6cyY0V8BP15X0zZdq5Dx0SaGV62tEDYEaqVF9DyuiNZB4V-IKb1-sEjBpOOeRP07Ihyphenhyphen9FlXzZ3HU-lED7SBEQUFjP5h5Omcmp7Z0BC7psG-MuU_om7r7QmPPavOMUA66UoerCC/s400/Berlioz01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify;">From where the quarter notes
begin, the first three bars aren't 'extensions', although that is
certainly a possibility depending on string length and hand size, but
rather 'pivots' (where the thumb doesn't move). The first real shift
occurs between the 'g' and 'e' (where it says: 'shift').</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8NLujS9rUU0FT7KI-yC0BF0-KMbFi_ZL-vzcFYQVVVca45F_M72Qspl4iF2_eDOdo-CzGCOJe7UEoSs8RX8Af7lUWOY3NWmgcBjAIKJc4pEA0ra__4MxTNYFKjBuXL9PmA3rlZq5dhsF/s1600/Berlioz02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8NLujS9rUU0FT7KI-yC0BF0-KMbFi_ZL-vzcFYQVVVca45F_M72Qspl4iF2_eDOdo-CzGCOJe7UEoSs8RX8Af7lUWOY3NWmgcBjAIKJc4pEA0ra__4MxTNYFKjBuXL9PmA3rlZq5dhsF/s320/Berlioz02.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 0.2in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 0.2in;">The
next several bars might become clearer with brackets showing the
different 'positions', and, consequently, where the shifts occur. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhuY6E2LkcY-xtN7ISMOrooKRUSg0dT5q1y3NIv4B1-gUDAYIM1Wi5sz__GsNlT5K7gh39w0wXWlqwJhQDGX2ymwRnDqhj29DwtxI48jPW9GfRQC16kwy0IP5HIJG_rMosc2dgsDZ5gZx/s1600/Berlioz03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhuY6E2LkcY-xtN7ISMOrooKRUSg0dT5q1y3NIv4B1-gUDAYIM1Wi5sz__GsNlT5K7gh39w0wXWlqwJhQDGX2ymwRnDqhj29DwtxI48jPW9GfRQC16kwy0IP5HIJG_rMosc2dgsDZ5gZx/s400/Berlioz03.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">The overlapping brackets in the second bar show where the thumb is
'brought up'. After the perfect fifth (e – a: 4 – 1) is
established, the hand pivots on the first finger, leading to the
minor third (a – c: 1 – +). I find this fingering for minor
thirds to be pretty comfortable, and the diminished triads, adding
the 2</span><sup style="line-height: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">
finger are solid. The shift (from a to e, 1 – 2) moves the entire
hand up a half-step to establish the triad on a-sharp</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">In the following measure, the first finger remains in place (a-sharp</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;"> = b-flat)</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;"> and the thumb moves up one half-step. One bar later, it is the thumb
which remains in place while the 1</span><sup style="line-height: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">
and 2</span><sup style="line-height: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">
fingers move up a whole-step to set up another diminished triad. In
the final two bars, the 'd' is closed with the thumb, then the hand
pivots on the first finger and the thumb comes off the string so the
harmonic may be touched with the 4</span><sup style="line-height: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 0.2in;">
finger. As Berlioz might have said, voila!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">A few more comments. </span>
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<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">For my taste, the 'small' or
'quick' little crescendos and diminuendos, such as occur throughout
this any many other passages in Berlioz, can almost never be too
exaggerated. Making these dramatic dynamic effects, which are often
at odds with the meter, gives more of the lurid, frenzied, and in
this case dreamlike character to the music. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The quarter-note passage appears
in the part with four notes slurred. Splitting those slurs in half
makes it easier to maximize the crescendos. This bowing is, I think,
the 'industry standard'. I'm curious to hear from anyone who adheres
to the printed slurs. </span>
</div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-33493124463291503732015-07-14T12:34:00.000-05:002015-07-14T12:40:40.750-05:00Pray for Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5KMZNEiJcF4GIAsphwIeij5nRkeEJfb8g8WvytiK8EoozO-4oVBl4vnnCDEptcCYIFTabd8IenEfKr1INyJZWFMYJYaJRS0Ye60oNi-PWZ7LLYMFDMP5PxvQT_vsOvEsadyRS_aymZqy/s1600/No+concert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5KMZNEiJcF4GIAsphwIeij5nRkeEJfb8g8WvytiK8EoozO-4oVBl4vnnCDEptcCYIFTabd8IenEfKr1INyJZWFMYJYaJRS0Ye60oNi-PWZ7LLYMFDMP5PxvQT_vsOvEsadyRS_aymZqy/s320/No+concert.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Since no summer of Bass Bloggery can go
by without commentary on the season at Ravinia, it is time to take on
the festival.</div>
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</div>
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“What are you doing home on a
Saturday night?” one of my neighbors who knows what I do for a
living asked during a recent impromptu front porch gathering, calling
attention to the fact that in years past the rigors of my profession
often forced me to eschew the warm weather social scene on our block.
Happily, I could inform my neighbor since the <strong>{redacted}</strong>SO would
only have three Saturday performances all summer, my attendance at
future gatherings would be more likely. Having been at something of
a loss for words to describe this year's iteration of the festival,
and also desiring to come across as a bit less judgey about our
summer working conditions, I hit upon the notion that through numbers
I might be able to describe the situation. Numbers, after all, being
impartial arbiters of fact, don't lie. So here are a few numbers
about the <strong>{redacted}</strong>SO summer season at Ravinia.</div>
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</div>
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Number of weeks – 6</div>
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Total concerts – 16</div>
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Concerts conducted by Music Director –
5</div>
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Saturday concerts (see above) – 3</div>
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Sunday concerts – 4</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Weekend concerts of classical music –
1.5 (One half point deduction for Gala all Tchaikovsky concert use of
live canon)</div>
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Film nights – 4</div>
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Pops concerts – 2</div>
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Classical music concerts of orchestra
without soloist(s) – 0</div>
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Rehearsals needed to put together film
night Fantasia concert – 3</div>
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Rehearsals needed to record soundtrack
with James Levine – 0 (I think we had 3 recording sessions...)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Performances of Star Spangled Banner –
2</div>
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Performances of works by Mozart – 3</div>
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Performances of works by Beethoven –
2 (not counting Fantasia)</div>
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Performances of works by Tchaikovsky –
2 (not counting Fantasia)</div>
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Performances of works by Elfman – 15</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Performances of works by living
composers (excluding pops or film nights) – 7 (OK, I'm joking: 0)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Total number of rehearsals – 34</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Rehearsals per concert – 2.125</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Concerts under conductors I have never
heard of – 5</div>
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</div>
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Perhaps I'm finally succumbing to Old
Fart Syndrome (OFS), the main symptom of which is clinging to the
belief that everything which occurred in the past is vastly superior
to that which is happening now. Nevertheless, I seem to recall the
<strong>{redacted}</strong>SO experience at Ravinia used to be something quite
different from what it has become. We used to put on eight weeks of
concerts, every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from about the middle of
June until the middle of August. A colleague pointed out that back
in the day, the number of rehearsals per concert was more like 1.5.
Three full rehearsals for Fantasia last week was cruel, but
unfortunately not unusual punishment. I tried to find a schedule
online from 1990, my first full summer at Ravinia but those
pre-internet things aren't always so easy to find, so I gave up after
a few clicks (another symptom of OFS is extreme impatience). A few
tantalizing clues, along with a clouded memory leave me with the
impression we opened with Mahler 2<sup>nd </sup>and later in the
summer did Das Klagende Lied with guest conductor James Conlon. We
also performed works by Milton Babbitt and Elliott Carter, of all
people. A 'pops' concert back then was James Levine conducting
Gershwin overtures as well as playing Rhapsody in Blue with the
orchestra, which became a Deutsche Grammophon recording. The first
three concerts of this season are Porgy and Bess, conducted by Bobby
McFerrin, a film night mashup of the two Fantasia movies, and another
film night of Danny Elfman's Tim Burton film scores. Sadly, even
with the LoTR films behind us, it seems there is no escaping another
summer dose of all things Efl-ish.</div>
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(Photo above taken from the Ravinia
Festival Brochure – redaction by Bass Blog editorial staff.)</div>
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<br />Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-27012238060217601742015-06-08T15:29:00.000-05:002015-06-08T15:29:21.753-05:00 LOTR:TROTK
<br />
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“<em>Well, I'm back</em>.” – Sam Gamgee</div>
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Sorry for the lengthy hiatus. For some
of the time, I have a good excuse for not posting – I was away on
sabbatical for a year – and for the rest of it, I have an even
better one – general malaise, with a side of laziness.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Thanks to those kindly who inquired as
to the fate of the blog, and even in a few rare instances, my own
well-being. The requests to have the blog start up again were all
greatly appreciated and truly touching. Any fellow creeping along a
high ledge, hearing the crowd below encouraging him to 'jump!' would
be so moved.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
After rubbing elbows with the peculiar
brand of paranoia extant in the orchestra for many years, I find it
difficult to divulge my exact whereabouts during my time off. With
the beginning and endpoints shrouded in secrecy, details of my
travels to other points around the globe must remain necessarily
vague. Flirting with treasonous candor, a few nuggets of information
are more than I should provide.</div>
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</div>
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My goal was to spend the entire year
out of the zip code, in a different time zone, and for at least half
the time, off the continent all-together. For four months, I
sojourned in an American city, famous for its bridge, if not other
things. During that time I prepared a possibly ill-advised (as if
there was any other kind of) double bass recital, which I presented
in my hometown.</div>
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</div>
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The next four months were spent in an
island nation, notable for the tendency of its inhabitants to drive
on the left-hand side of the road. After that, the remainder of the
year passed in a city on the European Continent, formerly a great
naval power, now celebrated for its scenic canals, if not its
cuisine.</div>
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</div>
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I returned to work in September 2014,
with every intention of starting up the old blog again. But, as I
found out, it's hard to get on when the merry-go-round is already
spinning. And after a year away, the orchestra can seem a bit
overwhelming, like gazing at one of those Bruegel paintings of
teeming village life. The longer you look, the more quirky and
curious things you might see – there are always small scenes of
cruelty or debauchery lurking at the corners.</div>
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</div>
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The only incident worth recounting from
my sabbatical happened right at the beginning.</div>
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</div>
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A couple days drive from a Large
Midwestern City will bring you to the congressional district of a
former vice president, ironically the man most responsible for
ushering the phrase 'undisclosed location' into common usage. When
choosing a roadside motel, especially with a year's worth of
belongings crammed into one's car, the often warring desires for
cheapness or comfort are subsumed by the need to park as closely to
the room as possible. Finding myself in this particular undisclosed
part of the country, I had very low expectations.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The first surprise came at finding a
cheap, clean motel, with parking right at the door to the room. Next
was discovering the place had a happy hour with all the free beer you
could drink. The bartender, who I vowed never to forget but whose
name flew right out of my head after the second large plastic cupful,
kept the tap flowing freely. Besides myself and the bartender, the
place was deserted except for a group of four thickly bearded men in
camouflage, and a bunch of animal heads bearing doleful witness
through their glass eyes.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
How about a little television? The
friendly barman snapped on the set before supplying the room with
another round.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Even with the set behind me, it wasn't
long before the hairs on the back of my neck began standing up. That
unmistakable sound – I can't bring myself to really call it music.
I'll be damned if LOTR:TTT* wasn't on TV. Almost unbelievably,
those were the last concerts I'd played with the <strong>{redacted}</strong>SO before
my sabbatical began, a few days earlier.</div>
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</div>
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One of the camouflaged gentlemen, and
it struck me I had no idea whether they were dressed for an excursion
of animal or human slaughter, was out of his seat, quick as a cat,
heading for the TV. With a hand on the knob, and in a voice that
left no doubt anyone in disagreement would likely find their head
mounted on the wall among the glassy-eyed creatures, he asked
rhetorically, nobody's watching this, are they?</div>
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</div>
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My sabbatical went on for another 363
days, but I might as well have headed home the next morning. I
didn't learn a more profound thing the entire time: You can find a
kindred spirit in the most unlikely of places.</div>
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</div>
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*Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers</div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-57530843982458587882013-07-14T13:36:00.000-05:002013-07-14T13:40:32.657-05:00Return to Mordor<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A pattern seems to be
evolving at Ravinia; begin the truncated summer session with a week
of <em><span style="font-style: normal;">Christoph von Dohnányi</span></em>
and end with a week of Lord of the Rings. I'm not sure how many
years the eighty-three-year-old maestro has left, but now that the
LOTR folks have turned <em>The Hobbit</em> into a trilogy of films, we have
five more to go. (If they tackle <em>The Silmarillion,</em> I'll probably
throw myself under a train. If Ravinia ever makes us play LOTR, the
musical, I might self immolate in the parking lot.) </div>
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</div>
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Sometimes it feels as if Sauron himself
takes a hand in scheduling during the summer season. Nothing whips
the Orc-hestra into that deadly combination of boredom and anger like
fifteen hours of rehearsal spent going over (and over) two Beethoven
Symphonies and two Piano Concertos (3, 3, 4 and 5 – don't ask me
which is which; I'm desperately trying to put the whole thing behind
me). <em><span style="font-style: normal;">Dohnányi, who has
admirable qualities as a musician, also has a disposition which
forces him to leave no turn un-scorned, and makes for some tedious
rehearsals. </span></em>The ensemble really seemed to hit its stride
sometime around Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, with three
rehearsals yet to go before the opening concert, the finest playing
might have been lavished on the fellows cutting the grass or zipping
around the empty park on their Segways.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
These weren't the first outdoor
concerts of the 2013 summer season, however. A couple weeks prior,
the <strong>{redacted}</strong>SO took its show on the road to a local arboretum and
presented three performances in a fairly bucolic setting. The
motivation for doing such a thing, while somewhat complex, has to
include a degree of frustration at the way in which the orchestra
finds itself increasingly sidelined at Ravinia. After spending
nine-or-so months a year as ostensibly the finest orchestra in our
zip-code, it is something of a come-down to arrive at our summer
'home' and discover we are several rungs on the ladder below the
likes of Steely Dan and Brian Wilson. (No offense to Messrs. Dan and
Wilson – I'm sure they are fine musicians.) So, one option for
those chafing under the dominion of the lidless eye is to make like
the Elves of Middle Earth, get in a boat and set sail for friendlier
shores.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
During my student days, a friend faced
a dilemma when he wanted to bring a girlfriend home for the holidays.
His religiously conservative parents wouldn't allow any sort of
cohabitation to go on under their roof. But, like the orthodox of
many faiths, they allowed for a giant loophole, one which permitted
my friend to do whatever he wanted, so long as it happened inside a
tent in the backyard. I couldn't help but think of my old college
pal while playing at the arboretum, as our very tent-like temporary
stage groaned, creaked, and flapped like a ship caught in a gale.
The price of freedom, I suppose, is sometimes having to put up with
rustic conditions.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The concerts we put on were 1) The
Music of John Williams, 2) the ubiquitous summer staple, an all
Tchaikovsky program, and 3) a family concert of Mexican, Spanish, and
South American selections that, on paper, looked the most
insubstantial of the three, but which I found to be the most
satisfying of the lot. As often happens when attempting to reach out
to a 'new' audience, the programmers, perhaps showing a lack of faith
in the commodity on offer, aimed low. Modesty and decorum prevent me
from dwelling too much on what went down in the tent my friend
erected in his back yard, but I assume he didn't curl up in his
sleeping bag with a flashlight and a Superman Comic. It is one thing
to win your freedom, and still another to know what to do with it.
To continue banging away at a tired analogy, the consummation of the
relationship between the orchestra and our audience ought to be the
presentation of the finest music by the best musicians. Whatever the
plans for the future, I hope our organization doesn't lose sight of
that. Anything less is not worth leaving the house for, or, in other
words, if you plan on <em>getting busy</em>, get serious.
</div>
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</div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388014615339890178.post-80203425898881793842013-06-24T05:08:00.000-05:002013-06-24T05:20:31.122-05:00Heart of Darkness<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Rivers Festival came to an end on
June 9<sup>th</sup>, although the onstage activities seemed to take a
week off for a Haydn/Martinu/Scriabin program that had nothing to do
with rivers, as far as I could tell. Music directors conduct what
they want, when they want to, and the rest of the season kind of
takes shape around that. However, among other things going on that
week, there was some sort of outdoor concert which the MD took part
in, and also a bunch of brass players went down the local river in a
boat (<em>He got a real pretty mouth ain't he?</em> - insert your favorite
quote from deliverance here. I don't think Dueling Banjos arranged
for Tuba and Bass Trombone made it onto the program, but who knows, I
wasn't there, and since the nice web-page devoted to the festival
has disappeared, everything I'm writing is based on very imprecise
recollection).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To be honest, I ducked out that week
for some much needed relief in order to play a set of concerts with a
local period instrument group. While the Rivers Festival brought
some new and interesting repertoire to the stage, it also brought its
fair share of earsplitting selections as well. Some of the most
enjoyable pieces, Bates, Revueltas, were also among hardest on the
eardrums. So after several weeks in which I felt as if I might have
been playing concerts for the hearing impaired, and/or in danger of
joining their ranks myself, it was very nice to do something lower
down on both the decibel and pay scales.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Although the performances took place
after the scheduled end date of the festival, I did manage to get
back on board for what was, I think, the last hurrah of River-themed
entertainment, Siegfried's Rhine Journey from <em>Gotterdamerung</em>. It is
well and proper to end this sort of festival at the Rhine; the
waterway connecting Switzerland and the Netherlands has to be about
as sacred to the classical music buff as the Ganges is to the Hindu. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Was the Rivers Festival success? Did
it irrigate the parched musical landscape of our city, or did it
siphon off precious, limited resources into unnecessary feelgood
projects, fueled by focus-group generated corporate doublespeak?
From my position onstage, it is impossible to comment on the many
things I did not participate in. As mentioned earlier, I appreciated
the influx of new or underperformed repertoire. If the various
symposia and other events were a boondoggle, I cannot tell. I would
greatly appreciate hearing what readers have to say about it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Festivals may come and go, seasons
change, music directors retire or move on, but one unavoidable fact,
like death and taxes (depending on the circumstance, more odious than
either) is the music of Anton Bruckner. We ended the proceedings
last week with his 1<sup>st</sup> symphony, which I was really
dreading until someone pointed out that the designation 'number one',
rather than a descriptive title, merely functioned as an ordinal
number. As a double bassist, like many of my comrades who play the
instrument, I can confess without embarrassment to having thrived by
reaping the benefits of lowered expectations. Therefore, when a
colleague turned to me during one of the rehearsals and said “this
piece isn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be,” I had a
visceral sense of understanding. The most interesting thing I took
away from the experience was noting the nested symmetry between the
one work and the composer's entire output, observing how the great
organist's maddening attention to detail, his dogged working through
of an idea to its sometimes ridiculous conclusion, had persisted from
the very beginning of his career and stayed the course from one
symphony to the next, just as within each of the symphonies, that
same maniacal persistence carried from one note to the next, one
measure to the next, one section to the next, and so on. The ideas
common to many, if not all the Bruckner Symphonies, depending on
one's viewpoint either brilliant or execrable, seem to have sprung
from his head fully formed and taken on the existence of unalterable
truths, worthy of endless, worshipful repetition.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The 'downtown' portion of our season
ended with a choral collaboration, including the Vivaldi <em>Magnificat</em>
and Verdi 4 Sacred Pieces. After a week with a period instrument
ensemble, the Vivaldi, although no surprise, came as a real shock to
the system, a kind of “OK, you're back in Kansas” moment. The
Verdi, on the other hand certainly more apropos, showed the assembled
forces to better effect. It was nice to end on a high note. </div>
Michael Hovnanianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822257921093170726noreply@blogger.com1