[Dixielandjazz] Band Rituals

[Steve barbone]

Not OKOM, but about Classical Orchestra ritualistic behavior. Why they are
done, etc. How about our OKOM bands? Do we have similar "OKOM Codes"?

Cheers,
Steve Barbone


February 13, 2005 - NY TIMES - By DANIEL J. WAKIN

Cracking the Secret Orchestral Codes

The curtain had fallen on opening night at the Metropolitan Opera's revival
of its lavish production of "Turandot," and the cast was basking in
applause. Some of that applause was coming from the musicians in the pit,
who stood clapping or tapping their bows on music stands. But something was
different here. Usually, the players are out of the door before the audience
members, even beating them to the bus stop.

To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a spontaneous show of
appreciation for the cast; or maybe the conductor, Bertrand de Billy; or
maybe Andrea Gruber, the Turandot, who recently made a comeback from an
addiction to painkillers. "The orchestra was very fond of the conductor, and
they were rallying around Gruber," said Ronald Arron, a violist in the
orchestra that night last month.

Appreciation, maybe, but spontaneous, no. As it turns out, it is tradition
at the Met for the orchestra to stand and applaud the first performance of
an opera during the season.

"The deal is," Mr. Arron added, "for the first show of a run, the orchestra
stays in the pit for the bows." It is partly to show appreciation of the
singers but also for the benefit of the audience and the critics.

>From dress to choreographed movements and the courtly interplay between
conductor and musicians, the classical music stage is rich in etiquette and
sometimes hijinks that are not always obvious to the audience. Chronicling
this tradition goes back to Hector Berlioz and his classic "Evenings With an
Orchestra," a collection of essays dissecting the world of 19th-century
orchestras and musical culture.

As a lifelong concertgoer - even a sometime orchestra member - I had been
aware of many of these practices. But in five months on the classical music
beat, I have come to be amazed at their breadth and intricacy. Such
traditions figure in the argument by some that classical music's popularity
suffers from stuffiness, although plenty of musicians and fans welcome their
sense of timelessness and refinement.

"It's true, we do strange things," said Eric Wyrick, the concertmaster of
the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra and a wry commentator on the subject. "Who
knows why?"

As concertmaster, Mr. Wyrick is in the thick of these rituals. With the
orchestra seated, he comes out for a solo bow before the conductor. "I don't
know why I have one," he said, "but there it is." The tradition may have its
roots in the days before the invention of the modern conductor, when the
first violinist or a keyboard player would lead the group.

Before the concertmaster emerges, many American orchestra musicians are
likely to straggle out, tune up and even practice that evening's parts.
European orchestras tend to tune backstage and come out all together, as the
London Symphony Orchestra did recently at Carnegie Hall. For some, the
difference is striking. "We in Europe think the American habit of sitting
onstage for half an hour is abominable," said Harold Clarkson, a former
cellist who represents orchestras on tour. "In Europe it always causes
comment."

Onstage, the American concertmaster's nod to the principal oboist produces
an A for the winds to tune to concert pitch, and another A for the strings.
As Mr. Wyrick tells it, the conductor enters and shakes his hand. Sometimes
they exchange half bows. "It's a very antique way of greeting," Mr. Wyrick
said. "It's theatrical, except that musicians are not very
theatrical-minded, so it comes off as stiff."

Often a conductor signals for the orchestra to stand. Once, an imperious
Russian conductor told Mr. Wyrick that the orchestra should rise on his
entrance, a command that could rub proud musicians the wrong way. Mr. Wyrick
said he defused the situation by saying, "Maestro, we will stand up when you
ask us to stand, because we want to follow you right away."

During performances, orchestra musicians have their own internal rules, too.
Never turn around if someone makes a mistake. (New York Philharmonic
musicians speak of one colleague who got into hot water for doing so.) Never
turn a page if someone nearby has a solo. Signal praise with a slight
shuffling of the feet. For a nearby string player who has a solo, a slight
rubbing of the music with the edge of the bow does the trick.

"Musicians have incredible peripheral vision," said Carl Schiebler, the
personnel manager of the Philharmonic. "They're looking at their music and
watching every nuance of the conductor. Any kind of unusual motion on the
stage is noticed immediately by everybody." At the end of the concert, the
orchestra takes its cue from the concertmaster about whether to rise again.
Occasionally, when the orchestra feels particular warmth toward a conductor,
it will show appreciation by declining to rise (again, at the
concertmaster's cue).

"There's nothing that will make the conductor any happier," said Mr. Arron,
the Met violist. He paused and added, "Other than a good review."

Mr. Wyrick said he has seen conductors steal bows by not asking the
orchestra to rise and pretending to bask in their glow.

Tradition also dictates that in certain pieces with major solos, the
conductor will acknowledge individual players or sections by having them
rise separately. 

"Some conductors will actually go into the orchestra and individually shake
hands," said John Hagstrom, the second trumpeter of the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra. "Rostropovich is famous for kissing people," he said of the
bearlike Russian cellist-turned-conductor Mstislav Rostropovich. "It's fun
because he's Rostropovich. If some young conductor did that, you'd think
he's nuts."

In German and Austrian orchestras, the two players who share a music stand
may shake hands at the end of a performance. "It's a very nice thing," Mr.
Clarkson said. "You thank your stand partner for the evening." Japanese
musicians, he added, will sometimes bow to each other.

It is usually up to the concertmaster to decide when the applause has died
down enough for the orchestra to leave the stage.

Mr. Clarkson, who represents the Vienna Philharmonic on its American tours,
pointed out other quirks about that orchestra, one of the world's most
venerable. It hangs a spare instrument from a music stand in each violin
section and in the viola section as a backup in case a string breaks. (Most
string players keep an extra set of strings in their pockets, though
occasionally you will see a hobbled player simply sitting and taking in the
performance.)

The Vienna Philharmonic and the Vienna State Opera, for which the players do
double duty, have their own collection of instruments, Mr. Clarkson
explained. So the musicians often play instruments that are not their own
and would have no problem switching to a spare. The Vienna Philharmonic even
takes its own violin repairman on tour.

Mr. Clarkson also points to a particularly endearing tradition that comes
into play in Strauss's opera "Der Rosenkavalier." At the beginning of Act
III, Baron Ochs asks the waiters at an inn - "beetles," he calls them - what
they are doing. When they reply, "Serving, Your Grace," the orchestra sings
along. 

Backstage traditions at some orchestras include decades-old poker games. At
the Metropolitan Opera, the game extends back at least to 1940, said Craig
Mumm, a violist in the orchestra. Hands are played during tour travel,
breaks in rehearsal and, most famously, intermissions.

"We really play fast," Mr. Mumm said. "Of course, we don't have time with
intermission to be changing chips, so everything is done in cash." The games
of choice are stud, draw, Omaha and the increasingly popular Texas hold'em.
Stakes range from $2 to $8 a bet, he said.

Some operas are better than others. The current "Turandot" production, for
instance, has 38-minute and 29-minute intermissions. "That's a great poker
opera," Mr. Mumm said.

More genteelly, the Met players have a tradition of wishing one another a
good season before the year's first performance.

Another realm of tradition is dress. The New York Philharmonic's manual for
musicians lays out the requirements in meticulous, carefully calibrated
detail, lending support to the stuffiness argument.

For main subscription concerts in the evening, men must wear formal black
tails, formal black trousers, long-sleeved white shirts, white bow ties,
white vests and black shoes. Black, floor-length, long-sleeved gowns or
black skirts with long-sleeved black blouses are prescribed for women. No
pants allowed. 

During matinees, men substitute black or midnight blue suits and long dark
ties for the tails. Dresses for women can rise to midcalf; wide-leg
"palazzo-style" pants are permitted.

The formality diminishes for summer concerts. The code is white jacket and
white short-sleeved shirt for men, black bow tie and black pants. When it is
too hot for jackets, white long-sleeved shirts are allowed. Women must stay
with the floor-length black skirt and long-sleeved white blouse. Still no
pants. The dress code is the same for the men for the parks concerts,
although women may wear short-sleeved white blouses, midcalf black skirts -
and, finally, pants if they want.

Some traditions are even musical. Different orchestras may play the "Air on
the G String" from Bach's Orchestral Suite No. 3, the Allegretto from
Beethoven's Seventh Symphony or the Barber Adagio to honor a dead colleague.

Mr. Hagstrom spoke of another honor, usually for an orchestra member, that
occurs at least at the Chicago Symphony. It is a spontaneous, improvised
fanfare, often in the key of E flat, played by the brass section. The last
time the Chicago brasses played the fanfare was during an evening last year
honoring Adolph Herseth, the orchestra's legendary principal trumpeter, who
had previously retired after a half-century in the orchestra, Mr. Hagstrom
said.

It is one of the rarest traditions, he said, and one of the most precious.