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Dan Coren
Here are some questions that occurred to me while reading Dan Rottenberg's article contrasting the old and new Philadelphia Orchestra:
"¢ How does Dan know that Donald Runnicles's guidance was patient or gentle? Was he at the rehearsals? Did he talk to any of the musicians playing under him? If not, he has no way of knowing what Runnicles is like to work with. He might be a tyrannical bastard. What does "patient guidance" mean, anyway?
"¢ Again, how does Dan know William De Pasquale flawlessly executed "every complex work presented to him"? When I was at Tanglewood in the 1960s as a not very successful choral conducting student, there were violinists in the stupendously good "student" orchestra who sometimes cheated and just moved their bows without playing. I'm sure this wasn't true of De Pasquale, but the only way to verify Dan's statement would be to hear De Pasquale play his part in isolation.
Aside from these quibbles, though, Dan's article poses what is really a very complicated question: Does it matter whether or not musicians"“ especially musicians in a classical orchestra"“ seem to be personally enjoying the music they're playing?
The musical purist in me wants to say, "Of course not. Can you tell from a recording of a Brahms symphony whether or not the musicians were smiling?" And I know from my own personal experience that I do my best playing when I establish a certain emotional distance and let the music speak for itself.
But follow this link to Youtube, where you'll find Lang Lang playing Mozart. (Strangely, the title of the excerpt says it's Horowitz.) If I close my eyes and just listen, I think, "Oh man, that is wonderful playing." But as wonderful as it is, my pleasure is— what? Tripled? Squared?— by watching Lang Lang's face. It's as if Mozart himself, taking infinite delight in his own witty, brilliant music, is animating Lang Lang's features, pointing out this delectable detail and that elegant turn of phrase.
To take another very different example: When Simon Rattle led the Orchestra in the same Brahms Fourth Symphony three years ago, as I wrote at the time, he hardly conducted at all in the usual sense. Nevertheless, Rattle clearly had the players completely in his thrall, and the rapt attention in their eyes contributed almost as much to the experience as Brahms's music itself.
Of course, no amount of emoting can compensate for technically deficient playing. But given a certain level of musical excellence, it's really a very simple question in the end: As you listen to beautiful music played by superbly talented musicians, would you rather they shared or withheld their ecstasy?
To read responses, click here and here..
"¢ How does Dan know that Donald Runnicles's guidance was patient or gentle? Was he at the rehearsals? Did he talk to any of the musicians playing under him? If not, he has no way of knowing what Runnicles is like to work with. He might be a tyrannical bastard. What does "patient guidance" mean, anyway?
"¢ Again, how does Dan know William De Pasquale flawlessly executed "every complex work presented to him"? When I was at Tanglewood in the 1960s as a not very successful choral conducting student, there were violinists in the stupendously good "student" orchestra who sometimes cheated and just moved their bows without playing. I'm sure this wasn't true of De Pasquale, but the only way to verify Dan's statement would be to hear De Pasquale play his part in isolation.
Aside from these quibbles, though, Dan's article poses what is really a very complicated question: Does it matter whether or not musicians"“ especially musicians in a classical orchestra"“ seem to be personally enjoying the music they're playing?
The musical purist in me wants to say, "Of course not. Can you tell from a recording of a Brahms symphony whether or not the musicians were smiling?" And I know from my own personal experience that I do my best playing when I establish a certain emotional distance and let the music speak for itself.
But follow this link to Youtube, where you'll find Lang Lang playing Mozart. (Strangely, the title of the excerpt says it's Horowitz.) If I close my eyes and just listen, I think, "Oh man, that is wonderful playing." But as wonderful as it is, my pleasure is— what? Tripled? Squared?— by watching Lang Lang's face. It's as if Mozart himself, taking infinite delight in his own witty, brilliant music, is animating Lang Lang's features, pointing out this delectable detail and that elegant turn of phrase.
To take another very different example: When Simon Rattle led the Orchestra in the same Brahms Fourth Symphony three years ago, as I wrote at the time, he hardly conducted at all in the usual sense. Nevertheless, Rattle clearly had the players completely in his thrall, and the rapt attention in their eyes contributed almost as much to the experience as Brahms's music itself.
Of course, no amount of emoting can compensate for technically deficient playing. But given a certain level of musical excellence, it's really a very simple question in the end: As you listen to beautiful music played by superbly talented musicians, would you rather they shared or withheld their ecstasy?
To read responses, click here and here..
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