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This afternoon we say goodbye to New York for another year, fittingly playing Mahler’s ninth symphony, probably one of the great musical farewells. It is one of those pieces that everybody seems to have in their minds a perfect interpretation, whether it is the coolness of some or the emotional torment of others. Bernard, more than any other tries to give an interpretation that does what Mahler asks. As the end of the final movement draws to a close and the violas slowly expand the melody to silence, it feels like a dignified farewell rather than a terrifying journey into darkness. As we were rehearsing yesterday morning, I sat back and listened to the warmth of the string section and despite the sadness of the music I couldn’t help smiling at the beauty of the sound being created around me.
Playing Mahler is a bit like doing a big jigsaw puzzle. There are so many lines going on at the same time, so many rhythms and different dynamics that you really do have to pay attention to what is on your page. Quite regularly the clarinets will be playing ff whilst the flutes are playing the same line pp with a sudden crescendo to ff on the last two quavers of the phrase. If you play what is written it has a very different effect to simply playing loudly all the time. Very often the long line of the melody is cut up between five or six instruments, each one playing a fragment of the phrase. It takes a great deal of skill to knit the parts together. Going back to that article I mentioned earlier on in the week from the Guardian, I can’t think how on earth an orchestra would manage to play this symphony without a conductor. They really are like a film director who has a vision of the whole picture, directing the actors to do the right thing at the right time so that the final cut becomes clear. It’s almost impossible to get an impression of how it sounds from within the orchestra, you can see to many of the building blocks; much like looking at an impressionist painting, you have to stand back to see whats going on. Or in the words of another great artist, R. Harris, “Can you tell what it is yet?”
A lot of the rehearsal involves practicing tempo changes (there are a lot) and balancing instruments. However, not all fortes are created equal as we discovered yesterday. There are vulgar moments when instruments shriek out from the texture and there are others where we all have to seamlessly merge from one to the other. Quite often an encouraging gesture or a hand raised is enough to achieve Benard’s required balance, but yesterday Lorenzo was-a little enthusiastic in one of his entries on bass clarinet. Bernard stopped the rehearsal.
“Bass clarinet, I know that it says forte for your entrance, however I am sure that the bass clarinet that Mahler used was not as good as you!”
Point made, Lorenzo disappeared back into the texture.
As we say goodbye to New York this afternoon with a farewell of a piece, we also sadly say goodbye to one of our longest serving members, 2nd oboe player John Lawley. John has been central to the LSO for many years and was chairman of the orchestra for a long period. However, aside from all of the politics, boardroom dealings and sponsors dinners that he has attended over the years, I know that for John, it’s the music that matters. As we audition for new oboe players, it simply emphasises how good John is at his job and how experienced he is, and how hard it is to replace people like him.
After all the speeches are over this afternoon and the achievements are listed, we will be left to say goodbye in the way we know best, by playing music. John once said to me that the best thing about his job was that whatever arguments you had with people off stage, and however bad you felt, once you got on that stage and started playing, it was all forgotten, nothing else mattered. I know what he means.
It’s funny how it’s possible to feel a little lonely in a city the size of New York. There are so many people and yet it is always at this point in the tour when my thoughts turn to home. Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, it’s just that sometimes I wish my family were here too. It has to be said that technology makes keeping in touch much easier. It isn’t so long ago that I remember queueing for the pay phones in the hotel lobby – now there are no pay phones in the hotel lobby. However the best thing these days is Skype. Now I’m sure that all my readers are hip young dudes and know what this is, however for the benefit of the technologically challenged amongst you I shall explain briefly. Skype is a little computer program that allows your computer to become a telephone, you actually talk at the screen and the person you have ’skyped’ hears you from their computer speakers. As it is done over the internet, and we have free wifi, it means you can talk for a long time without cost. Brilliant. It gets even better. You can also see the people you are talking to and they can see you too-its just like Star Trek but without the captains log. My kids get very excited when I phone home as to them, all of a sudden, dad is actually in the computer screen talking to them; they get to show me the stuff they’ve done at school, my daughter shows me cuts on her knees and all the other trivial things of family life which take on enormous importance when you aren’t there.
I thought I would skype just around tea time yesterday. Now picture this, my daughter, who is waiting for her tea is playing with big cook, little cook on the BBC website; they are making cyber bread which I am told she has just put in the oven. My daughter guards her time on the computer fiercely as she has to share it with her two bigger brothers who of course try to dominate it. So as I said, she is sitting happily playing when all of a sudden my face appears on her screen, automatically closing down her bread making program. I can at this time see her in my laptop screen.
“Hello darling, it’s daddy, how are you? Are you being a good girl, I’ve missed you”
It’s at this point that she screams and starts having a tantrum (She’s 5), but manages to say,
“Oh dad, I’ve waited ages to play on this and now your head’s stopped my bread and it’s not fair.”
She then ran off in a huff.
I guess that’s a good thing that she isn’t missing me as much as I am missing her. Anyway, she did regain her composure and we did have a chat later on which made me walk around NYC with a spring in my step, not feeling so lonely anymore.
I felt very lonely again today, although in a room full of about 200 people. It was on stage in the concert at the Lincoln Center. This might strike you as a little odd. Tonight we played Das Lied, some of you may have heard it in London. Typically for Mahler, he orchestrates the huge forces so that at times the singers are pitted against the full force of the LSO and at other times he thins the texture so that one solo line weaves around the soloists. I have one of those lines and boy, does it feel lonely.
I have noticed the sensation before when playing Prelude de l’apres midi; the silence surrounding you is deafening. When we rehearsed Das Lied, it was the first time I had played it in my life. This is scary when Haitink is standing in front of you- I mean, he knows how its supposed to go for goodness sake. I had done my homework and the solo cadenzas with the mezzo fitted. If you don’t know the bit I’m referring to, it is a couple of bits which just involve the cellos holding a low note very quietly indeed and then the flute and mezzo weave a sinuous thread around each other until just the flute is left to gradually descend into nothingness. It can be a spectacular moment, but is absolutely terrifying to pull off in concert. The reason being that you don’t realise how lonely it can feel until there are 200 people watching and listening and suddenly the orchestra is still, hardly daring to breathe. You don’t notice in rehearsal, people are moving around, coughing, writing things in their music; you know, it takes a lot of effort to actually be quiet, and it never happens until the show. It was this evening with the polished hush of Avery Fisher as the 4 bars before my bit gradually became almost inaudible, the silence pressed in on my ears and I felt totally alone. Its that oppressive silence where everything around you seems to stop. It’s a bit like when you wake up early in the morning – it’s quiet, but just normal quiet. You can hear the leaves on the trees, the cars going past and life humming away in the background. That is like the rehearsal. And then there are those mornings when you wake up early and there has been a heavy snowfall – a really deep quiet. The snow seems to absorb the sounds of the cars and leaves, and until you open the curtains, you can’t be sure that someone hasn’t removed the life outside your window. That is what it feels like before I play the cadenzas – everything goes quiet and all my colleagues around me don’t move or breathe in case they make a noise – there is a brief pause after the descending scale and then we are off again to the end.
It’s a wonderful, lonely moment. One of many for me in New York City.
There was an article in the Guardian the other day about conductors – you may have seen it. It was charming in its way and continued the long history of confrontation between players and maestri and was intent on showing how over inflated their fees are. Well, we could argue about that forever, but it was strange how little of it mirrored my experience. Here is the article
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/oct/06/orchestral-conductors-pay-cut
By the time we reach the concert, a large proportion of the hard work has been done in rehearsal and a lot of what is left for the conductor to do is to inspire. The one thing the writer says that is very odd, is that during a concert she barely has time to look up to see the beat as she has too much to do! Also that the success of the concert is pretty much down to the players with very little input from the conductor. Hmm, not with Bernard on the podium. I think any discussion over the difference a conductor makes could be settled when you here the LSO play Mahler 9 with Haitink on one night and Gergiev on the other. I’m sure you’ll each have our own personal favourite, but I don’t think any of you would say that we sound the same!
I thought of this when we were rehearsing yesterday in Avery Fisher Hall. If you google Bernard, you’ll find hundreds of articles that usually include a phrase which says something like, “economical gestures and a man of few words”. It’s true, he also has a great sense of humour. The thing is that he doesn’t always say much, but he shows so much in his conducting; so much so that when he does say anything, its astonishing that a few words can make such a huge difference. Let me give you some examples-in fact, he hasn’t said very much more than this all week!
Schubert 5 is one of my favourite symphonies, it gives me a huge feeling of happiness as we dance through the first movement, much like being a kid waking up on Christmas morning. Just like when you unwrap your stocking and enthusiasm overtakes good manners, its easy to start ripping the paper off a little too fast. In rehearsal, you could sense that the orchestra was getting a little too over excited for the simplicity of line Bernard was asking for. He stopped us,
“OK, these accents on the bar-lines are a little too much now, yes? Nothing harsh, just a bow to Schubert please. Once more.”
And that was it. A small sentence with a huge impact, we all knew what he meant. Other conductors would have to sing what they wanted or would have gone to great lengths to explain how the accent was to sound. Bernard just wants a nod in the right direction. In this respect he is very like Colin in that he trusts the players judgement as well as his own. To use an over worn cliché, it really does feel like we are making music together.
The opening of the slow movement is quite tricky and Bernard was anxious that we did it quick enough otherwise “It sounds boring already”. So we played it and he smiled. He graciously stopped us at the first repeat mark.
“Well, that really was very good indeed. Lets do it again to make sure!”
We repeated it.
“Yes, good but please, pi-an-iss-i-mo. Don’t get louder yes?”
We repeated it again, this time with Bernard barely moving.
“Yes as I thought. The less I do, the better it sounds.”
We all laughed. “Its because you must listen more”
And there you have it. You can have one of the greatest conductors in the world in front of you, but if you don’t listen, it means nothing.
There are many times when Gordan, our leader will say something to the orchestra. Now if Bernard comes from the Harold Pinter school of dialogue, then Gordan subscribes to the Eric Cantona school of verbal meandering.
Last week in rehearsal, we stopped and Eric, sorry, Gordan said,
“Sorry Bernard, may I say something?”
Bernard settled back on his stool and watched intently as Gordan started talking. Now I sometimes find it hard to hear exactly what he says as he is a long way away and he often talks and plays at the same time, demonstrating the kind of sound he is after.
“Hey guys, listen to the sound here. Its kind of (demonstrates the sound) waaaaah, you know what I mean? But you know, we need like (demonstrates a different sound) waaaeeeerrr, you know what I mean. I mean like, less hard, more like swiss cheese, you know what I mean?”
I think the first violins know what he means.
Bernard, just sits and looks, raises his eyebrows and starts again. The sound is indeed different. We stop again.
“Well Gordan, I didn’t understand a word of what you said, but they do. That is exactly the sound I am after.”
He then turned to David Alberman.
“ He did say Swiss cheese didn’t he?”
“Er, yes maestro, he did”
“Ok”
You’ll probably think I’m making this up, but I assure you that everything on this blog really does happen!
During the opening concert last night, I made a point of seeing how much I did look up. I wanted to see if I really was too busy to watch. The truth is, I spent most of the time watching his every gesture as he moulds and crafts the performance like no other. A lot of the time, Bernard seems to be enjoying the sound of the band, a look of approval when the remarkable Phil Cobb sails above the texture or a smile at the characteristic playing of Lorenzo; and there is a huge amount of affection for him from us too. I can’t wait for the next two shows.
I’m sure, as in all things, there are over paid conductors. But there is no question about it in my mind, Bernard is priceless.
I woke up yesterday with that familiar nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s always the same, but before my brain becomes fully conscious I try and remember why it is that I feel off colour. After a few seconds, I remember and crawl out of bed, open the curtains and let the low blazing sun light up my room. The music for the concerto sits staring at me on the table and the cadenzas, which suddenly seem to have more notes than before, spill out of the score. My flute sits expectantly, waiting to be polished and cleaned, and a clean white shirt hangs crumpled on a hanger. As I stand in a hot room, ironing, I get ready as fast as I can , I want to eat some breakfast before nerves prevent me from eating lunch. I don’t have time to sit by the pool today, we have a rehearsal this morning and then I will be playing the Mozart flute and harp concerto with Bryn Lewis. However right now I feel like walking out into the waves and letting nature take its course…
So after managing to eat something I walk over to the Peabody early to warm up. Its a funny thing, but the thought of things like this are often worse than the event themselves. As soon as I put my instrument together and start playing, I instantly feel calmer. Maybe it’s a sense of relief that I can actually play, or maybe it’s just doing something, anything, to take my mind off being nervous. In the heat of the dressing room, a small lizard darts across the chair-does this mean good luck? I don’t know, but I’ve never seen one in the Barbican that’s for sure.
As the stage fills, normality makes me feel calmer and soon enough we are rehearsing Mahler for the second half of the afternoon concert, it gives me something else to focus on. As ever, we have to sort out the offstage trumpets. The first time through they are too loud, so Daniel asks them to move further away. This time it sounds better and Dan asks them to come onto the stage. They actually have a tv monitor so that they can see the conductor, so they see him waving and appear at one of the side doors.
“That sounds great, how far away are you?”
Rod Franks replies,” We moved back to the corridor. We tried to play it from Froggy’s bar across the road, but the cables wouldn’t stretch!”
Daniel laughs and calls for the break in rehearsal.
I fortify myself with one of June’s cups of tea – and then another one – I don’t know what we’d do without her over here- and then return to the stage. Bryn is already centre stage with his harp and I take my place next to him. It’s very strange to stand up the front. I don’t get to do it very often and I know that there are no critics in any newspaper who can compete with my colleagues! The rehearsal goes very smoothly and we actually finish early, I am feeling strangely calm by now and manage to eat a sandwich.
Before we can play the concert, I have to do the pre concert talk with Bryn. Now I’ve done quite a few of these over the years, but I think Bryn is more nervous about it than the concerto! However, once we take the stage, he is a natural. The audience here in Daytona beach always have lots of questions and today is no exception. We find out that he didn’t start playing until he was 18 and has at least 7 harps-or maybe more! By the time the talk is over we both feel quite relaxed and the countdown begins.
I don’t have a ritual before I play, except another cup of tea, but today there is only time to change and warm up again. The orchestra takes the stage, the hall is full and Bryn and I stand in the wings in the darkness with Daniel and Carmine. The door opens and light bursts out towards us, Carmine walks into it to applause and the door is closed. It is dark again. Alan our stage manager asks if we are ready, but it’s a rhetorical question, the door is opened once again and Bryn and I walk onto the stage. I imagine it’s how rugby players feel when they walk out of the tunnel in Cardiff, except quieter. I can see the front few rows of audience, but the rest are cloaked in darkness, silent, waiting for us to begin. It is strange as 3 minutes earlier I was a bundle of nerves and if someone had told me the concert was cancelled, I wouldn’t have minded, yet now, with my flute up and ready, I feel relaxed and excited all at the same time. I guess I must be a natural show off.
It’s not really for me to say how it went, but I was quite happy. Bryn was as ever, marvellous and having the LSO as a backing band is always going to be a treat. Daniel was of course…a super conductor.
If you want to read a review and see a picture (I did iron my shirt), follow this link.
http://www.news-journalonline.com/NewsJournalOnline/Entertainment/Headlines/entMUS01042709.htm
Tomorrow, a group of us travel round the Daytona speedway at 140mph. That’s even faster than Carmine playing Moto Perpetuo.
I think.
I love American audiences. When they enjoy a concert, they whoop and holler and stand up and shout and it feels great. Sorry its been a while-my laptop died, so if anybody works for a computer company and would like to sponsor the blog with a new one, please get in touch!
Since I last wrote, we’ve been to Boston (great hall and clam chowder), Washington (Sorry Mr Obama, just didn’t have a window, maybe next time), Newark (Enormous hall!) and yesterday we arrived back in NYC for the final two concerts. We came in by bus, and unlike when we were here last week, the skyscrapers were met by the sky which had come down in a low grey cloud. It really did look quite eery to see the top of the buildings just fading out above your head.
I have to tell you that after a lovely party hosted by the wonderful Jane Moss at the Lincoln center, we were all a bit tired at the 10am rehearsal this morning-especially Valery. As it was all rep we knew well, we played through bits and pieces but mainly slowly and then went for an early lunch. It felt a little like we had to get through the show and then we could go home, just a couple more hours of concentration and then home. Of course I hadn’t bargained on one thing. Valery.
I don’t know what he has for breakfast, but it must involve at least 25 Shredded Wheat. When he flew onto the stage for the final concert, he had woken up and it quickly became clear that we were not going to go quietly into that good night. We were raging.
By the time we came back on for the second half and our final symphony of the cycle, No 5, he looked like a man possessed. I can’t really describe the performance, but if you were there, I doubt you will forget it. He drove us harder than ever and any tiredness evaporated in a hot sweaty fever pitched show. Its not often that the bunch of cynics that we are come offstage smiling, having had so much fun, but the concert tonight will remain in my memory for, many years. The audience leapt as one to their feet, and every section of the band was stood up to huge cheers. My limited vocabulary simply fails me.Nobody knows how to judge a concert quite like Val.
I was going to go to bed as we have to leave at 5.30am, but I am writing this to you at 1am because I have to. We had to wind down with a drink after the concert and as we are in Manhattan a cocktail was in order. I’ll give you the recipe for my favourite.
1 Fiery Russian Spirit
96 international Mixers
7 dashes of Prokofiev
4 concertos
3 Solo players
8 cities
13 concerts
shake, stir, set alight, sit back and enjoy.
I did.
It’s one of those days on tour when you’d quite like to be able to pop home for a bit. I don’t know whether its the mid tour blues, or if its just a case of homesickness, but today, I’d quite like to be at home. Its mothers day back in the UK and I have been on the phone to my own mum and also my wife who is a mum herself – of my kids in fact. Technology is a wonderful thing and because of the webcam on my laptop I was able to not only talk to my family, but I was also able to inspect the cuts and bruises from various rugby matches and bike accidents.
After speaking to my mum, I was reminded of the need for motherly care no matter how old you are. I had just got changed and came up the stairs in Chicago to see Tim, our principal cellist fiddling with his socks. It was one of those horribly long days where we had to check out of our hotel before the concert which meant making sure we had everything we needed for the rest of the day with us. Quite regularly, somebody forgets a bow tie or something, but usually a spare is found in time. This afternoon, he had forgotten his black socks. Now if you think where he sits, at the front, this is quite important, especially as the ones he had on were black and white stripes. The scene that met me at the top of the stairs was of Tim colouring in the white stripes with a black marker pen. They were thin stripes, and it was taking him ages. After he had finished, someone suddenly found a spare pair of black socks. Funny how they only appeared after all the white stripes had gone. So maybe in future tours we should take a mum with us for moments like this.
The concert in Chicago was fantastic. It is a wonderful hall with an incredible history and the orchestra played out of its skin-this usually happens when another orchestra is resident, especially as Chicago Symphony had played the night before-we had something to prove. As the final notes of No 5 flew out into the hall the audience leapt to their feet. I don’t remember this happening before in Chicago. Valery was smiling again, but this time it was after the Classical symphony, so I relaxed.
There was no time to stop though, we had a plane to catch. We were on the last one out of Chicago to New York City, one of my favourite places on earth. Like a lot of the band, I was feeling tired, it had been a long day and I dozed off on the plane. When I woke up, New York was unfolding beneath us. It was nearly midnight and the lights along the linear street patterns glowed bronze. The various bits of the New York area looked like an elaborate Christmas decoration made of copper which glistened in the winds below. Just like a child staring up at the tree with its twinkling lights, looking down on NY, my home for the next two days, I began to feel that same excitement. You never quite know whats going to happen.
That familiar journey (I can’t remember how many times I’ve been here now) through dull looking suburbs never quite prepares me for the breathtaking sight of a floodlight Manhattan as you approach one of the bridges. When you first see it from the bus, everybody stops talking and just looks at it, almost pinching themselves to check that they are really there. In the middle of a long tour away from home, friends, family and my mum, the sight of the skyscrapers glowing the way they do, looking just like in the movies is a very comforting sight.
Despite the fact that it changes every time we come here, it never really changes at all. It’s noisy, smelly, exciting and always welcomes us with open arms. Its good to be back.
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