Last month, Freeman and the Richmond Symphony Chorus allowed cameras into an early rehearsal of Mozart Requiem, in preparation for their Feb. 16/17 performance. Join them, as they delve into a few of the finer points in the piece.
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The Richmond Symphony’s Lollipops series, begun by Erin and the Education Team of the Richmond Symphony, is now expanding! In its fourth successful year, the series is now in demand throughout the Commonwealth of Virginia. In October, this family oriented concert series travelled to Lawrenceville, VA. Coming up, the performance of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, with storyteller Charlotte Blake-Allston, will appear at the Paramount Theater in Charlottesville, VA. Click here for more info.
This post is about now. Now, I lead one of these concerts – one of these performances that is part tradition, part beauty, part fun, and all community. The office knows how much I struggle over putting the show together. I’m sure they roll their eyes when I change the order of the second set “just one more time.” I know it’s difficult to see me vacillate over the right mix of tradition and innovation throughout the greater part of the year. (Yes – I start in June, and I just made another change yesterday!) Here are just a few of the questions over which I struggle for months.
I tell you, it’s agonizing. Recently, I went to the Shaw Library, and was pleased find evidence that he struggled, too. He had the programming down to a science, for sure, but seemed to continuously fine tune things from year to year. Here’s the second page of a worksheet from 1976. Pieces scratched out. Timings meticulously summed up. This year, the Richmond Symphony’s family holiday concert (called “Let it Snow”) includes more variety than ever:
But, the anxiety, the questions, the circus, and listening to Christmas music during the heat of July are all worth it! If this concert makes just one person connect to music in a way that offers her the same kind of artistic fulfillment I’ve been fortunate to have, then my goal will have been accomplished. And, it won’t hurt if everyone has a good time, too! Recorded live in performance in May 2012, Hampton Roads Classic Label recording of Mahler’s Symphony no. 8 was released on November 2. Prepared by Erin Freeman, the Richmond Symphony Chorus was part of this monumental occasion conducted by JoAnn Falletta. Read the full press release.
On October 25 and 27, Erin conducted two different sets of education and community engagement concerts to rave reviews from teachers, students, families, and bloggers alike.
The Discovery concerts on October 25 were written, programmed, and delivered by Erin to coincide with the Virginia Standards of Learning in Music and Visual Arts. The Virginia Museum of Fine Arts’ education department (a partner in the performance) wrote:
I anticipated that the Discovery Concert would be excellent and enjoyable—but I did not anticipate that it would also be electrifying. I was truly blown away by the entire experience. The connections between art and music were well thought out and presented with great panache. And, Richmond’s Cultureworks Blog wrote in a review with the great title of “Eating Children at the Symphony”: "Bravo to Erin Freeman and the Richmond Symphony for energizing the educational and transformative powers of Dvorak et al." Read the entire review here. As part of my Associate Conductor position, I am often asked to answer the question “Why Classical Music?” People – even avid music lovers – want to know why in this time of economic, social, and political strife, we should continue to support something as intangible and fleeting as the arts. Particularly these days when it seems as if our attentions as a culture are pulled in every direction, and we have an ever increasing number of options for where to deposit our money and (even more valuable) our time, this issue demands addressing. I’ve lived with this music my whole life, so to try to explain it is nearly impossible. For me, the art form speaks for itself. After all, that’s why when asked to write about music, William Faulkner said: “I would say that music is the easiest means in which to express, but since words are my talent, I must try to express clumsily in words what the pure music would have done better.” But, I try. And I use any means possible from inspirational quotes and stories to the closest thing to a scientific study as I can get. Inspirational quotes When I speak on this topic, I usually begin with the assertion that indeed the arts are the most real, the most concrete, and perhaps the most long-lasting of all our human pursuits. I quote John F. Kennedy, whose strong statements about the importance of the arts adorn the external walls of the Kennedy Center. One such quote is particularly suited to my argument that the arts are perhaps more real and more necessary than any of us would expect. He said: “I AM CERTAIN THAT AFTER THE DUST OF CENTURIES HAS PASSED OVER OUR CITIES, WE, TOO, WILL BE REMEMBERED NOT FOR VICTORIES OR DEFEATS IN BATTLE OR IN POLITICS, BUT FOR OUR CONTRIBUTION TO THE HUMAN SPIRIT. The proof is in the pudding – or is it? Still, however, the proof is in the pudding. With a family of scientists, engineers, and lawyers, I have worked hard to find some proof, some concrete examples that the arts are worth sustaining. Let me try sharing a few example of how the arts, and my beloved “classical music” in particular, help shape a positive and productive community. I had a student in Baltimore who played a certain instrument. I’ll call him John and his instrument the hecklephone. He lived between two boarded up row houses, took the bus to school, and was the first of his family to even consider graduating from high school. Several times, he almost gave up as classwork proved difficult for him and his family to manage; as he couldn’t easily get to weekend events because the bus schedule was odd; and as he got beat up every time he took his hecklephone home to practice. But, he loved Schubert. Schubert got him to school. Schubert made him do his homework. Schubert kept him practicing. Schubert helped him graduate from high school. Another student had all of the advantages in the world, but was scared to audition. She would cry before (and during) every audition, unable to finish a phrase. Something, however, kept her going. Something made her push through her nerves. Perhaps it was Berlioz. Perhaps it was her friends. Perhaps it was her instrument. Now, she’s in college – an eloquent and compassionate speaker and musician. I could spend this entire post on anecdotes like these, because I encounter them week in and week out. They are wonderful, inspirational stories for sure. But, I’m not convinced that these stories are unique to music – or to the arts, for that matter. For example, I read an article the other day about five teenagers from disadvantaged backgrounds who made it through high school and into college because of their commitment to their track team. Allow kids to engage in a positive passion, and they will succeed. How would a scientist approach this study? So, I’m back to the original question: what it is about the arts – and music in particular – that is so special, so unique that it must be valued even when we are fearing the plunge in our retirement funds? What is it about this – the Dona Nobis Pacem from Bach’s B Minor Mass – that requires a community to rally around it to make sure its power does not diminish? Well, I suppose if I had words to explain it, we wouldn’t need music, but me try to approach it methodically, like a scientist or an attorney might. Here is my hypothesis: Music, particularly the category we incompletely call “classical music,” is the ultimate human experience. In it are combined the intellectual, the spiritual, the emotional, the temporal, the communal, and the individual elements of our being. Intellectual: We humans love knowledge. We strive to acquire information, solve puzzles, and outwit our neighbors. This small three-and-a-half minute piece by Bach taps into this slightly nerdy part of our human nature. It’s a fugue – a structure we can analyze and sort-out – a piece to which we can even apply mathematical equations. We can relish the fact that this small bit of music comes from a much large piece that is built with symmetry and form akin to the temples in Rome. The New York Times crossword has nothing on this puzzle of subjects, countersubjects, and episodes. (Sorry Will Shortz.) Emotional: In addition to and because of this intellectual underpinning, this short window into Bach’s genius has an emotional element that can be understood even if the puzzle of its construction has not been completely solved. Its long, beautiful phrases begin subtly and gently rise to a stirring, powerful climax towards the end. With the same kind of emotional trajectory of a good tear-jerker film, this miniature sets up emotional expectations and fulfills them in a way that mimics the growth of human passion. Spiritual: The spiritual element of music is a tricky one, because especially in a piece like the Dona Nobis Pacem, the spiritual can get confused with the religious. But they aren’t the same. For me the spiritual element is an unexplained phenomenon that happens with music in particular. It’s that “greater than the sum of its parts” miracle. In studies about the importance of music education, we often hear about the association between music and math, but with the spiritual element of music, we get a new kind of math. 1+1 = 3…or 4…or 5! It happens with every ensemble (including the intimate ensemble of a single soloist and her audience): great music+talented musicians+dedication+practice+focus+energy = something inexplicably better than all of those individual elements (This is why I call this phenomenon spiritual, because it’s hard to explain. You have to trust it, without logical, scientific proof. Here’s where my scientific approach breaks down, but just trust me. Or come to a concert and experience it for yourself.) Temporal: Just like human life, this glorious piece by J.S. Bach has a beginning, a middle, and (unfortunately, as this is one of my favorite pieces) an end. You cannot slow it down to make it last longer, you cannot rewind it and replay it without altering its natural continuity, and you can’t stop it in the middle to take a time out. This temporal element of music is at the same devastating and fulfilling, reminding me to savor the moment in everything I do. Communal: Even this brief snippet of Bach taps into the human need to make connections, for inherent in his composition and eventual performance is a complex web of relationships fundamental to its existence. It requires connections between composer and singer, between soprano and alto, between singer and instrumentalist, between ensemble member and conductor, between performers and listeners. Involved in this most simple of examples are: the technicians who recorded the performance; JS Bach’s musical hero Buxtehude; Fred Waring, who set Robert Shaw out on his conductorly path; Felix Mendelssohn, who helped create a Bach revival in the 19th century; the custodians at the Woodruff Arts Center where the music was rehearsed and recorded; the Cleveland Orchestra who eventually hired Atlanta’s concertmaster Bill Preucil; some student who will learn this piece in 200 years; and even you, because you just listened to the recording. You are now connected to Robert Shaw, to JS Bach, to future generations, and to all of the performers in this recording. Individual: Although this piece depends on an entire community of performers, technicians, historians, and audience members to make it work, it also highlights that sense of individual spirit that humanity honors and demands. Yes, the piece requires community and unanimity of purpose to bring it to performance, but each person in that collective has a completely different relationship with it. The trumpet player might be spending the first several bars breathing and preparing for his soaring and triumphant entrance. One bass voice might need to make sure that his initial note doesn’t go flat, as is his tendency, while another needs to catch an extra breath in the middle of the first phrase because he had an allergy attack that day and his breath control is shot. The organist might be focused on monitoring the pitch of the instrument because the AC system might be down that day, while the AC repairman might be frantically trying to fix it so the performance can go on with excellent intonation. One person in the audience might be hearing the work for the first time – one person for the last. As I hear it, I will be fighting back tears, as I always do in this piece. It’s the piece that got me hooked on classical music – it encapsulates the human experience. I celebrate its beginning, get wrapped up in its intellectual, spiritual, and emotional construct, share it with others, and mourn its ending, even in all its trumpet and choral splendor. Have I answered the question? Probably not. But, here’s my best shot. The question is – why support music? Why invest my hard earned (and hard to find) money in this fleeting endeavor? My only answer is this: Perhaps because as we downsize “tangible” things that have defined us for too long, NOW is the time to find a new definition of humanity. We can feel how folks are desperate for contact and connection – with things like Twitter and Facebook. These tools, as fun as they are (and I have to admit to checking my Facebook account regularly), only touch part of the human experience. At this juncture, we require something that not only establishes communication and connection, but something that feeds us spiritually, culturally, emotionally, and intellectually. Something that all at once relies on and feeds community of spirit, soul, and understanding. Something that connects us with our past, requires us to live in the present, and urges us to contribute to the future. I would argue that it is the arts, and music in particular, that fulfill that need. Oh, and this: The Richmond Symphony’s “Bernstein on Broadway” performance was a huge success. Playing, singing, and story-telling to a full, appreciative audience, Jamie Bernstein, Michelle Areyzaga, Elizabeth Shammash, Jeffrey Picon, Hugh Russell, and the talented musicians of the Richmond Symphony, all under the direction of Erin Freeman, performed selections from West Side Story, On the Town, Candide, and Wonderful Town. Of the performance, the Richmond Times Dispatch said “Conductor Erin Freeman got things off to a rousing start with an exuberant but well-controlled reading of the colorful overture from “Candide,” Bernstein’s popular comic operetta” and “some of the best moments … came when the orchestra performed “The Symphonic Dances.” The color, rhythmic vitality and sensitivity required by this piece were evident all the way through.” Read the full review here. Congratulations to all involved!
I’ll admit it. Since I was 14, I have had a file folder labeled “Bernstein.” Yes, I am a bit of a file nerd, with notes on vocal technique, quotes from my favorite musicians, program notes by me and others, and charts on almost every piece I’ve learned painstakingly categorized in four mismatched Ikea cabinets. But, it was only last week that I discovered a box of files going all the way back to age 14, and “Bernstein” was the first one. (Probably alphabetical, but still prophetic for this week’s concert topic). I was about 13 when Mr. O (Ortlip – Director of The Young Singers of Callanwolde) asked me to sing a solo on an upcoming concert. The piece contained some words that seemed odd to me: “Lauda Laude” and “Lauda laudadeedadeede” (or whatever the spelling was). I didn’t quite understand the subtext of this piece that was quixotically entitled “A Simple Song” and was from Bernstein’s Mass (but wasn’t in Latin). But, I loved it. There was something about the freedom in those odd syllables that I now know as derivations of the word “Praise” – something that was counterintuitive to my usual straight-A-fugue-loving self. So, I put my all into it, and Mr. O asked me to sing it again. It became my signature piece that year, and it began my obsession with the mighty Mr. Bernstein.
Around this time, my mother wrote a letter to Mr. Bernstein, asking as only a mother can for him to reach out to her Lenny-Crazed daughter. She carefully typed it on her Emory University Genetics letterhead, and presented me a copy and an amber (“Bernstein”) necklace pendant when all that came back was a free subscription to the Bernstein Newsletter, “Preludes, Fugues, and Riffs.” “I tried,” she said. I didn’t begrudge him for not responding. I think I was more embarrassed that my mom even tried. My obsession continued. The next summer, mom and I embarked upon the pre-senior rite of passage: the college tour of the northeast. We stopped at Tanglewood in Western Massachusetts before heading to the futile land of that school in Cambridge. Bernstein was conducting Beethoven 7 (and some work I had never heard of by the same guy who wrote Ceremony of Carols). Mom expressed interest in lawn seats, but I argued to sit in the shed. After all – “It’s Bernstein, Mom. Don’t you understand? I’ll even pay. I’ve saved up some money. I have $60.” Smart geneticist that was, she said okay. We each paid for our own tickets and took our seats smack in the middle of the shed. It was marvelous. I was overcome with emotion (and some confusion) in the Britten Four Sea Interludes, a set of pieces I now LOVE, and the Beethoven was, as expected, captivating to my somewhat untrained ears. And then, he stopped conducting. That moment is seared in my mind, but not because of anything that I can pinpoint. (Did it happen in the scherzo? Did the BSO skip a beat? How long did he lean against that support?) Rather, it proved to me that I was making the right choice by going into music. I felt in the shed that afternoon a collective will – a human force that kept the music going. The audience was as much a part of it as the orchestra. Music was about humanity, and I was determined to be a part of that energy. That was his last concert. When I got to college, I was armed with the confidence of good music theory scores, prominent roles in musicals, and my time in the Atlanta Symphony Chorus. I auditioned for the top chorus, and to my dismay did NOT get in. I had to sing in the second best chorus. (Oh…the horrors!). All worked as it should have, however, because we had the better project that fall. We performed Bernstein’s Mass – “Simple Song “ and all. And, I had a solo. Okay, it was just as the first clapper in the scene where the chorus starts to break out of their shell, but it was my first solo at Northwestern University, and it was BERNSTEIN. I even kept the review (in my Bernstein file, of course!). So, what does a conductor do when she’s not actively running from rehearsal to rehearsal? Well, the list is long and includes programming (anywhere from 1 month to 3 years in advance), organizing scores for the upcoming season (I think I’m up to 128 this year, with several programs yet to confirm!), planning rehearsals (how many hours do we need to spend learning Sibelius 1 or Mozart Requiem?), and studying like mad (once the season starts, it’s hard to find enough dedicated time to learn those 128 scores). This week, I had the great fortune of completely “geeking out” at the Yale Library, studying some of Robert Shaw’s papers. I brought my scores of Mozart Requiem, Durufle Requiem, Beethoven 6, and Copland Old American Songs, hoping to glean some information from the great philosopher-conductor. In his papers were his scores and orchestra parts with thousands of markings, multiple stacks of study notes, letters from colleagues, and more. It was marvelously informative, a bit overwhelming, and certainly humbling. Above all, it felt almost like a private lesson with the late Mr. Shaw. Here are a few highlights: I packed up my car to make the drive up north. In addition to the music I brought to Yale, I had to pack my John Williams scores for the Richmond Symphony’s opening concert. (I must admit to studying the Williams while watching the Olympics – quite an appropriate combination, actually!) I got to Yale, and on top of the first file I opened, there sat a letter sent by my Master’s professor to Mr. Shaw. I love the care, professionalism, and diligence that went into this small piece of writing. In the next box, I found a file of materials my children’s choir director sent to Mr. Shaw. It had the theory workbook I used as a young singer, plus the program from a concert that I sang when I was 12. Yes! My name was in the program. I checked. Finally, I got to work. First up: Mozart One of many full scores of Mozart Requiem. Note the meticulous markings: tempos in the upper left hand corner from any recording he could find; green markings to be transcribed into orchestra parts; other colors for Mr. Shaw’s personal use. And…don’t forget to stand the chorus The first of several files of notes. Most of his notes were on yellow paper – hundreds of sheets of yellow paper. On top of this stack I found some seating and standing cues he used for one of his many performances of the Mozart. Underneath this sheet was a treasure trove of study materials: spiritual, musical, structural analysis; careful if not obsessive tracking of tempi; and multiple sets of rehearsal notes. And, with each performance, he began a new analysis, never resting on his experience alone – always finding new interpretations. Next up was Duruflé Requiem. As Mr. Shaw knew M. and Mme. Duruflé personally, his papers offered some inspiring and lesser known facts. For example, the Duruflés approved of changing all of the vocal solos to full section moments, agreeing with Mr. Shaw that this change better represented the concept of collective chant singing so associated with the Gregorian tradition. Also, in typical fanatic fashion, Mr. Shaw took note of all of Duruflé’s tempo preferences for each moment of the ENTIRE work. What a wealth of information! “Voices are not trained to dominate, but to serve.” That was Mr. Shaw – a servant of the music and, through his music, the community. He obsessively marked every detail in green, red, or blue not to demonstrate how much he knew about the music, but rather to find the magic in the score that would help him serve it and the community better. Every yellow sheet of paper helped him overcome, not the music itself but rather the fear of not doing it justice. So, now I must go and sharpen my own pencils, find my equivalent of yellow legal pads (graph paper), and get to work on what I can do to serve the music, the performers, and the listeners. First up: Copland Old American Songs, Mahler 1, and, yep, Summon the Heroes, John Williams’ tribute to the Olympians. |
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