Bloomington - It was four-on-four rather than one-on-one at last Tuesday afternoon's master class in Auer Hall. That's because the members of the Orion String Quartet - violinists Daniel Phillips, Todd Phillips, violist Steven Tenenbom and cellist Timothy Eddy - were on hand to guide selected foursomes from the student body of the IU Jacobs School of Music through some rigorous training.
Faced with a deadline for this column, I listened but an hour, but a lively hour that turned out to be, not surprising in that these visiting musicians, when in the act of performing concerts, are brimming with vigor. One just expected their teaching style to follow suit.
It did.
They spent the hour prompting four young musicians through two or three minutes of a Haydn quartet, and although there was no way the performers could have taken in the barrage of advice that came their way, they picked up amazing amounts of counsel, ending with a reading much enriched in rhythmic integrity, dynamism and an enhanced understanding of the atmosphere, the idea within the composer's head that inspired the notes in the score.
Concern yourselves with tempo and details, that they're under control, said one Phillips brother. Concern yourselves with rhythms, so they serve the concept of the performance, said the other Phillips. Concern yourselves with intonation, which can go awry when you play too fast, and you needn't play too fast, said violist Tenenbom. Concern yourselves with feeling, with phrasing, "the mood juice" of music, said cellist Eddy.
One could almost imagine what an Orion Quartet rehearsal must be like when the ensemble tackles a new assignment or refreshes its approach to familiar repertoire. Do the suggestions fly fast and furiously even among musicians who've been playing together for 15 years? How do they bring stylistic and artistic unity out of the give-and-take one imagines they engage in?
Such a complicated process: this assembling of a piece of music so that composer intent and performer intent can merge, so that an interpretation fuses, so that beauty or pathos or irony or fury or humor or romance can be detected by those who've come to hear a concert.
A master class serves as reminder. "That sounded better, but it's still a bit run together. Take your time," one heard enunciated, followed by morsel after morsel after morsel. "Pause. Let the music breathe." "Sonority is so important. That gives the music character." "Try it once very slowly. Make it gorgeous." "Don't let the music turn pale. This is a dark piece." "Before the music happens, consider the composer's experience, the germ of thought or mood that brought on the music. Follow the mood. Let it lead you through the details." "The details need more energy, and give them a ground swell." "Put a little more starch on the loud notes." "When you sense a loss of control, one of you, any of you, hold back." "I'm still missing recognition of the character implied in the score. It sounds a little too generic for my taste." "In the era of Haydn, composers used relatively simple musical material, but they made incredibly rich music with it. There are tremendous mood and harmonic changes here. Reflect that." "You're losing the melody. Music is about saying things." "Don't homogenize. Polarize. Play to contrasts."
When the hour was done, the learning musicians hadn't come close to integrating all that advice, some points in seeming conflict with others, but the final reading had gobs more personality and oomph. Lesson assimilation was well under way. And just as the Orion foursome as players had left local audiences satisfied by their concerts, so the Orion foursome as teachers apparently had left their students happy, too. Good show.
A happy birthday
George Gaber is the youngest 90-year-old I can think of, seemingly not slowed down at all, still fully capable of handling those percussion instruments he championed over a lifelong career as practitioner and pioneer teacher.
He remains as puckish and gregarious as ever, a joyous eater and conversationalist, someone who resolutely shares his opinions and relishes memories of all the good years he's had, someone still deeply in love with his dear wife and with his life, and grateful for them both.
Friends, colleagues and former students gathered at two events in recent weeks to honor the birthday boy at 90. I was privileged to take part. More than that, I've been privileged to become a friend of a man who's both singular and admirable. Happy birthday, George!
