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to Chapter 14
15
The Orchestral Musician
Changing attitude to the status of
musicians. In the early 20th century two strands of employment start
to emerge. Playing in an orchestra – satisfaction and frustration
– how different sections of the orchestra are affected. Ever higher
standards of technique.
In 1900 the majority of professional
musicians were working in theatres, restaurants or for dancing. It
was only with the formation of the BBC Symphony Orchestra in 1930
and then in 1946 with the re-opening of the Royal Opera House that
Britain had its first full-time symphony orchestra and opera house.
Until then very few musicians earned their living wholly as ‘orchestral
musicians’.
The problems Sir Henry Wood was still
experiencing in 1904 were caused to a considerable extent by the fact
that nearly all of the musicians in the Queen’s Hall Orchestra were
playing in the many London theatres, where they could put in deputies.
It was largely from this considerable number of musicians that the
Royal Philharmonic Society recruited the musicians for its orchestra
(not to be confused with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra that Sir
Thomas created in 1946). The musicians in the orchestra Sir Henry
put together for the first series of Proms in 1895 which became the
Queen’s Hall Orchestra, were mainly theatre musicians who expected
to treat their relationship with that orchestra as they did their
theatre contracts.
At the beginning of the 20th century
two strands of musical employment begin to emerge. Until then there
had just been music. The same composer might well write sacred music,
‘art-music’ and ‘popular music’. Art-music more precisely describes
what is now always referred to as classical, or sometimes as serious
music. Neither of these terms is really accurate: art-music does not
have to be Classical (as distinct from Romantic or Contemporary) nor
does it need to be ‘serious’
From about 1910, when a new style
of dance music started to be favoured by dancers, a new and different
style of playing was also required and by around 1920, when a large
number of what came to be called dance bands had been formed, those
who played that music began to be referred to as ‘dance’ musicians
(and, by some of the older musicians like my father, as ‘Jazzers).
In the latter half of the 1950s these musicians were increasingly
replaced by the arrival of the pop and rock groups. For the past 80
years, with only a very few exceptions, musicians who have provided
music for dancing have not played in orchestras. However, for those
orchestral musicians who have been employed in providing ‘backing’
for the myriad forms of contemporary popular music on recordings and
TV, it has usually been extremely rewarding financially. On TV the
producers of programmes featuring a pop singer or group have increasingly
favoured young and attractive women musicians when a small string
section is on view.
Increasingly, since about 1955, when
‘popular music’ in its very many forms replaced jazz orientated dance
music as the music enjoyed by the majority of young people, jazz has
become more and more respectable until, since the 1990s, it has been
regularly played on BBC Radio 3 alongside symphonic music, while pop
music has its own channel, 1. Students at the music colleges and conservatoires
in Britain and the USA can take Jazz as their main study and many
of the leading jazz musicians are now extremely musically educated.
The extent to which attitudes to popular culture have changed since
the 1960s can be gauged by the fact that at that time, when a number
of distinguished jazz musicians and I met representatives of the BBC
on behalf of the musicians broadcasting jazz and improvised music,
jazz was still classed as ‘entertainment’ and not ‘music’.
In contrast to a good many other countries
where permanent symphony orchestras had already been established during
the 19th century, it was not until well into the 20th that one was
created in Britain. A musician’s casual and insecure way of life and
income continued to make this seem an unsuitable career for the children
of most middle-class families. Perhaps, if they had a very great talent
as a pianist or violinist and a solo career was possible, or they
wished to become music teachers, it might be considered. Most fathers
would definitely not have thought that an orchestral musician would
make a suitable husband for one of their daughters. One of my colleagues
told me, many years after the event, that even in 1947 when he went
to ask his prospective father-in-law for his daughter’s hand in marriage
this gentleman, who I believe was a bank manager, said, ‘My daughter
tells me you are a musician. Where do you play?’ ‘I am the principal
trumpet in the Royal Opera House Orchestra’, my friend replied. ‘What
do you do during the day-time?’ he was then asked. The prospective
father-in-law clearly did not think of music as a full-time occupation
and thought that symphony concerts and performances of opera arrived
from out of thin air without any preparation. Another colleague, a
distinguished principal wind player in the RPO in 1955, formerly a
principal in the BBC Symphony Orchestra since the 1930s, told me that
even while he was in the BBC Orchestra if he was asked what his occupation
was he would claim to be ‘in insurance’, rather than admit that he
played in an orchestra.
With the formation in 1930 of the
BBC Symphony and the creation in 1932 of the London Philharmonic Orchestra
by Sir Thomas Beecham, a number of musicians could then really be
said to be orchestral musicians, in that they earned the whole or
the bulk of their income from playing in an orchestra. They no longer
needed to play in theatres, restaurants, or do summer seasons playing
on municipal bandstands. In addition to the BBC Symphony Orchestra,
during the 1930s the BBC created several other orchestras: the BBC
Northern (now BBC Philharmonic), the BBC Scottish and Welsh Orchestras
and the BBC Theatre Orchestra (now the BBC Concert Orchestra). The
increased demand for art-music from 1940, led by 1946 to the formation
of two more orchestras in London, the Philharmonia and the Royal Philharmonic
Orchestra, and together with the members of the London Symphony Orchestra
and London Philharmonic Orchestra being fully engaged. It was not
only in London that there were many more orchestral musicians. Bournemouth,
Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow all by then had full
time orchestras, each employing at least 70 musicians. There were
also full-time orchestras at the Royal Opera House and Sadler’s Wells,
later to become the English National Opera, as well as a far greater
amount of employment for freelance orchestral musicians in recording,
broadcasting, playing for films and in the smaller part-time orchestras
that had been formed in London and around the country.
Attitudes had also changed. A number of musicians of
my generation, coming into the profession around the end of the war
in 1945, had been to Public Schools (for my American readers that means
Private Schools). Previously very few of those who had been to a public
school or university had entered the profession as orchestral musicians.
Musicians in the major orchestras in London, by working very hard, could
earn enough to satisfy the most hard-hearted of prospective fathers-in-law,
though those in the Regional orchestras were still comparatively poorly
paid. To say that you were in one of these orchestras or even a member
of the London Philharmonic or the Philharmonia meant
nothing to the general public in Britain. I was struck when I went with
the Philharmonia to Vienna in the 1960s how, when I was on a tram and
other passengers saw the name Philharmonia on my
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instrument case, they looked at me with interest. In
shop windows photographs of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and their
conductors were used to advertise various goods. It seemed that in Vienna
musicians were regarded with as much respect as footballers were in
Britain.
Playing in an Orchestra
Symphony and opera orchestras, the
true home of the orchestral musician, are highly complex hierarchical
organisations, and to a greater or lesser extent this is true in all
orchestras, large or small.
In 1900, musicians, like nearly everyone
else, ‘knew their place’, accepted their position in society, and
though they might be ambitious to better themselves the idea that
every one was equal had not yet generally taken root. Accepting being
told what to do and doing it without questioning was for most employees
still the order of the day. Rules were obeyed, children did not ‘answer
back’, those in authority were called Sir.
In an orchestra authority stems, as
elsewhere, from the management, but is wielded by the conductor, who
through the power invested in him by the management had the ability
to hire and fire musicians. There is no doubt that in the past some
conductors did behave like tyrants, as the bandmaster of an army band
might. Although they could not send a player to the guardroom or consign
him to barracks, they could terrorise and humiliate him, make his
life a misery, destroy his ability to play and, ultimately, sack him,
with or without good reason. Happily this state of affairs is no longer
tolerated but, as I wrote in a previous chapter, many musicians still
feel oppressed by conductors, especially when it is one for whom they
have little or no respect.
Remnants of the old style of tyranny
were still in evidence when I joined the profession in 1942. Individual
members of the string sections, usually someone towards the back of
the section, would be singled out to play a particularly difficult
passage on their own, in front of the whole orchestra. Though an adequate
member of the section, he would be unused to playing alone like a
soloist and now, extremely nervous, he makes a poor showing and is
humiliated in front of his colleagues. After WW2 changes in society
and the education system greatly changed attitudes toward authority
and this form of oppression is now extremely rare. But a conductor
can still pursue and distress a player by constant criticism until
he is no longer able to play adequately. It is now unlikely that individual
members of a string section will be affected by a conductor in this
way, though I have seen a whole violin section brought to the point
of desperation at being unable to satisfy a conductor’s unreasonable
demands. The best conductors have no need to behave like this, because
they are able to indicate what they want by their gestures and are
experienced enough to know what an individual player or section is
capable of. It is members of the woodwind, brass and percussion sections
who are obviously the most vulnerable to criticism when they have
solo or exposed music to play.
Every member of an orchestra, whether
the leader (or concertmaster in the USA), principal horn, or the violinist
at the back of the second violin section has to give up some of her
or his individuality, but some have to do so much more than others.
String players have to give up most: they are always playing the same
notes as a number of other players. From time to time I believe every
one of them will experience a real feeling of frustration. Nearly
all of them at some time will have had dreams of becoming a soloist
or of playing in a string quartet, or at least in a chamber orchestra.
As a clarinettist I never had to experience
the frustration of playing the same notes as a number of other players
while playing in an orchestra, but I think I can understand how they
must feel. Gilbert Vinter, a bassoonist (I remember that when I was
a child he came to our house to rehearse a Mozart trio for two clarinets
and bassoon with Pauline Juler and my father), and later a successful
composer and conductor, persuaded the BBC to form a very large wind
band for a series of broadcasts. It was a quite a remarkable band
in that it was made up of many of the woodwind and brass players from
all the orchestras in London – the symphony and opera orchestras,
the BBC orchestras, plus the best free lance players.
There were about 14 or 16 clarinets
(in a wind band the clarinet take on a similar role to the violins
in an orchestra). At one time or another I played in every position
in the clarinet section in that band, from principal (leader) to the
player on the last stand. Even though the standard of all the players
was so good, having to play the same notes as a lot of other people
was a new experience for me. Everyone else seemed to be playing all
the notes in the difficult passages except me and however loudly I
played I could not really hear myself. I would not want that experience
every day all through my life. The violin is a softer sounding and
more subtle instrument than the clarinet, but even so I think I would
find it difficult to bear.
Players, other than some of the string
principals who are seated very near the conductor start with a major
disadvantage: the majority of conductors never seem able to hear or
understand whatever is said to them. Conversation with the conductor
from one’s seat in the orchestra always seems to be what an exasperated
colleague called ‘one-way traffic’. Conductors expect everyone, however
far away from them, to hear and understand what they say, quite often
fairly quietly and with a foreign accent, though the players on the
back desks of the strings and the percussion, and even the woodwind
and brass in a large orchestra, can be a considerable distance from
them. When a member of the orchestra asks a question many conductors
either don’t hear them or understand what is being asked. I learned
that to get their attention it was necessary to wait until there was
absolute silence, speak very loudly (with some it helped to stand
up) and very clearly. It takes a fair amount of self-confidence, some
might say ‘hard-neck’, to do that.
The phrase ‘hard-boiled musicians’,
so beloved by critics, could not be further from the truth. Musicians,
like all performers, however distinguished or famous, are extremely
sensitive and aware of their own weaknesses and shortcomings as artists.
Their confidence can be easily shaken. Actors, dancers and musicians
have to take a great deal of criticism from directors and conductors
as well as the self-criticism they constantly have to apply if they
are to be any good. Quite a number of those going to music college,
when faced with the demands of their teachers, who will often be a
soloist or a professional orchestral player, and especially when they
start doing a few orchestral engagements, find that they are temperamentally
unsuited to the harsh reality of professional life. They give up and
go into teaching or some other less demanding occupation.
It not easy, when one is trying one’s
utmost to respond to the demands being made on one, to be told one
is too loud or too soft, too sharp or too flat, too early or too late,
not making enough crescendo or too much, too much attack or not enough
– the list is endless. All these comments come most often from the
least able conductors, those who cannot achieve what they want by
their gestures. Something that, after working with so many conductors,
I still cannot explain is why it is that even good intonation is achieved
by the very finest conductors without any obvious action or comment
on their part. Perhaps the sense of security they engender by the
certainty of rhythm, tempo and the balance they achieve just makes
it easier to hear and play more accurately.
Attitudes within the orchestra itself
have also changed a great deal over the last 30 or 40 years. Older
players used to take a very decided ‘who do you think you are, young
man’ attitude to young players. Joseph Casteldini, a fine bassoon
player, told me how when he was a young man he went to deputise at
a show at one of the West End theatres. He found that he was sitting
next to the famous clarinettist Charles Draper, then quite elderly
and at the end of his career. At the interval, intending to be friendly,
Joe said ‘Can I get you a cup of tea, Charlie? Draper responded with
some asperity, ‘Mr Draper’, and did not speak to him again. I found
when I joined the LPO in 1943 as a very callow youth that a few of
the older players behaved in this way to me. When I complained to
my colleague, the bass-clarinettist Richard Temple-Savage, by then
one of the middle-aged members of the orchestra, he recounted his
own experience when he had joined the orchestra in 1934. He said that
for the first six months he was in the orchestra Reginald Kell, the
then principal clarinet, did not speak to him at all. Nowadays, if
an older player were to say ‘I’ve had 40 years experience’, as I remember
being told a number of times when I was young and had only been in
the profession for a couple of years, a young player would think (and
might even say) ‘isn’t it time you made way for someone younger?’
As well as accepting the authority
of the conductor, members of all the string sections also have to
accept decisions made by the principal of their own section often
directed by the leader. Many conductors will leave decisions about
bowing to the Leader who will usually consult with the principals
of the other sections. Decisions about bowing, which part of the bow,
whether a passage should start with an up-bow or a down-bow, whether
a series of detached notes should be played ‘on the string’ or ‘off’
and many other sophisticated questions have to be decided. There can
be very decided opinions on these questions and doing something one
way or another can make some passages much more difficult for some
players. The leader may be a very fine player but have idiosyncratic
ideas regarding bowing. Paul Beard, a very fine violinist and a fine
leader highly respected by conductors (he was also Beecham’s leader
of the LPO for a time), upset some of his section when he was leader
of the BBC Symphony Orchestra because of his unusual views on bowing.
It seems he was unwilling to listen to the complaints of a number
of members of the first violin section, causing a degree of discontent.
In contrast, when David McCallum was Leader of the RPO, not all the
violinists in his section were of the highest calibre, but because
of his easy authority and understanding of each player’s capacity
he got the very best out of them and created a first-class section.
In the same way that musicians will
accept a conductor’s wishes, even when their own feelings about the
music differ from his, especially if there is finally a rewarding
performance, so the members of every section, strings, woodwind, brass
and percussion must at times accept the decisions of their principal.
When appointing players, regard to their temperament and ability to
co-operate in the position to which they are to be appointed is extremely
important. Two players, perhaps equally good oboists, may have very
different personalities. One might make an excellent principal oboe
but be quite unsuited to being a second oboe, being unable to subordinate
his own style and musical feelings sufficiently. The other player,
equally good, might find the responsibility of being principal and
‘in the firing line’ all the time too demanding. He might be more
suited to the less demanding principal position as the cor anglais
player. In that position he will have important solos to play but
they occur much less frequently. Or he or she might be ideal as a
second oboist, delighting in supporting their principal when there
are duets or unison passages, adapting to and matching his principal’s
style and tone. The worst situation is when a second player believes
he should be occupying the position of his principal, or if a string
player feels dissatisfied, believing he should be sitting further
forward in the section, perhaps right at the front. A player like
that can be extremely harmful to the whole section.
Even the relationship between
principals can sometimes be difficult. As Chairman of the Philharmonia
I sometimes had to deal with this problem Perhaps the principal double
bass and principal cello may have very different ideas as to how some
passages the cellos and basses have to play together in octaves should
be bowed. After a time, the relationship between the two of them gradually
becomes strained and the whole of each section get involved. Or, perhaps
the trumpets feel that the trombones always interpret the dynamic
marking, whether piano or forte, too loudly, forcing them to play
louder than they want to. Sometimes a very good woodwind or brass
player can irritate some of his colleagues, who admire him, but find
he is inclined to be rather over assertive, perhaps because he has
a strong soloistic temperament. In solo passages his playing is very
personal and exciting and at times an inspiration to others in the
orchestra, but whenever others have to play in unison with him or
when he doesn’t have the most important part in ensemble passages
he always seems to dominate. The test for a really fine orchestral
woodwind and brass player is whether he or she has the ability to
switch from being a soloist one moment to a chamber music player the
next, and then a moment or two later, when there is a melodic line
in their part that they would like to play out, play as quietly as
possible so that more important parts can be heard.
When I meet ex-colleagues of my own
generation or older who in their day were considered very good players,
there is general agreement that we would be lucky to get into the
profession now with the skills we had when we started many years ago.
Improved teaching methods and the many improvements that have been
made in the manufacture of woodwind and brass instruments in the last
30 years or so have been important elements in making technical virtuosity
relatively commonplace. But most important has been the example set
by the extraordinary level of technical performance young aspiring
musicians have come to accept as normal. The recordings made over
many years, using the techniques I described earlier and that includes
piecing together a number of ‘takes’ to create a performance without
any blemish, have been an inspiration and the spur to achieve a similar
or even a better performance.
Each year, starting in 1979, the National
Centre for Orchestral Studies (NCOS) formed a symphony orchestra following
the audition of students who had been at music college or university
and now wished to become orchestral musicians. As the Director I sat
in on the auditions for every instrument and was impressed by the
generally high standard of technical skill. The oboe auditions are
a good example. Before attending the audition every applicant was
required to prepare a number of extracts from the orchestral repertoire
that we had selected for their instrument. One of the extracts the
oboists were sent was from the Overture to La scala di seta
(The Silken Ladder) by Rossini. This overture contains a famous
solo for the oboe that in my experience even the best players considered
difficult. I remember that Terence MacDonagh, Leon Goossens and Evelyn
Rothwell, three of the most outstanding players of their generation,
would do some extra practice if they knew it was going to be on the
programme. I had heard it imperfectly played by lesser players on
a number of occasions. At the auditions for the NCOS from 1979 until
1989 I must have listened to about 300 young oboists. Though the technical
performance of this difficult passage was generally very good only
a handful played it with any real musical understanding.
Not surprisingly, the number of players
able to respond to and interpret the content of the music and express
it in their playing had not increased at the same time as their instrumental
dexterity. In fact, musicians of my generation and those even older
feel that a considerable number of concert performances have for some
time lacked the expressive qualities we had heard in the past from
the best principal players when they had solo and ensemble passages.
In the last chapter I have written: When I was first involved in
playing for recording, from 1944, we tried to recreate in the studio
as nearly as possible what took place at a concert performance. As
record sales increased it was not long before the concert performance
began to try to recreate what could be heard on recordings Inevitably,
listening to playbacks, editing short sections, when the primary
concern of record producers had become whether the balance, tuning,
ensemble or any other technical element was as near perfect as possible,
resulted in performers becoming increasingly concerned about these
aspects of their performance as well. Musicians brought up on a diet
of recordings have naturally been as influenced by the interpretative
elements they have heard as the technical.
Now that there are so many accomplished
players there are a very large number of applicants whenever auditions
are held for one of the orchestras. It is likely that 40 or more players
will apply if the position of second clarinet in one of the BBC Orchestras
becomes available. There may be two or three who the orchestra think
might be suitable. As a rule each of them will then be given a trial
period in the orchestra. As well as being a good player there are
other qualities that are extremely important. How will they fit into
the section musically and personally? How will they respond to conductors,
and they to him? As well as being a good player, getting on well with
colleagues and satisfying conductors, how consistent a player will
they prove to be? Sadly, if there is only one job, two very good players
are going to be disappointed
It is generally known that symphony
orchestras everywhere have for some time been experiencing increasing
financial problems and that the amount of employment for musicians
has reduced, especially the number of recording sessions that the
major orchestras in Britain had come to rely on to a considerable
extent. Yet the number of young musicians seeking entry to the specialist
music schools and the music colleges has not decreased. A good many
of them will be hoping for a solo or chamber music career and though
there are now many more opportunities for a local career in those
fields, the majority of students leaving the music colleges wishing
to follow a career as a performer will find they will be playing in
an orchestra of some kind. The popularity of musicals, many of which
have very long runs in London, a few for as long as 20 years, now
provide employment for quite a few musicians. A few may be fortunate
enough to obtain a position in one of the symphony orchestras. Many
more will free-lance, a field of employment now sadly much reduced,
and make up their income by teaching. It is vitally important that
anyone contemplating a career as a professional musician should remember
that many of those setting out with this intention are disappointed
with the type of employment they find they are obliged to undertake
for a good deal of their lives. This is true for all performers, actors,
dancers, singers and musicians. There are just too few opportunities
available for all those who wish to spend their lives doing what they
enjoy most.
When talking to other orchestral musicians,
including some who also had solo and chamber music careers and were
fortunate enough, as I was, to have experienced the enormous satisfaction
of taking part in a wonderful performance in a very good orchestra
conducted by a great conductor, they have all agreed that notwithstanding
the fact that one has to give up one’s freedom of expression and accept
the discipline of being part of a large ensemble, nothing surpasses
the satisfaction of taking part in a performance of this kind. It
is an extraordinary paradox.
Over and above everything else the
fact that as an orchestral musician one spends one’s whole working
life in the company of men of genius one is very rarely, indeed ever,
going to meet in person. One is constantly refreshed and enriched
by the thoughts, feelings and imagination of the great composers of
the past and present as expressed in their music. Because over the
years one takes part in a good many different interpretations of the
compositions of Mozart, Beethoven, Berlioz, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Mahler,
Debussy, Stravinsky, Britten, Shostakovich and other composers, one
is privileged to gain an understanding and insight that is extremely
rewarding.
For me there was another continuing
pleasure, that of working with outstanding solo artists. Whether the
orchestra is good or not so good, or the conductor is great, good
or just so-so, to accompany a great artist is always a delight. I
was fortunate to take part in performances of a great deal of the
piano, violin and cello repertoire with many of them. As well as that
pleasure there was always the enjoyment of working with colleagues
whose playing delighted and sometimes inspired. This element of the
life of an orchestral musician deserves a chapter of its own.
Chapter
16
