Whither Music? (A
Brass Band Context)
B/M Robert Getz (R)
As one ages and faces going gaga bit
by bit, it is natural to look backwards for the joys of life. This is in part
because hindsight is perfect and is improved exponentially in proportion to the
amount of time passed. It is also due to the current lack of opportunity
afforded to the has-beens of life. We live in a “me & now” age. Regardless, it
has become increasingly clear that as performance levels rise, musicality
withdraws, and in a proportional relationship. It is the exception that proves
the rule. One could die of boredom holding one’s breath to wait for a wrong note
to be played by Perahia, and one could die of musical euphoria while
experiencing the wrong notes of Rubenstein, Horowitz and a few others.
This came into focus for me a number
of years back when I heard a world-renowned Salvation Army band perform, a band
by which I had been enchanted and by which I had been inspired for many decades.
There was now a new bandmaster, so I was naturally curious to hear what might be
different. I was quite taken by the superb baton technique of the bandmaster and
the homogenous sound of the band, as well as the accuracy of their execution.
However, there was something missing which evaded me for a time. They played the
most difficult of pieces with disarming ease (to the point of turning exciting
music blasé). They were in every obvious way superior to the band I had known
and loved a few years earlier. But I couldn’t tolerate listening to them. Why?
It is simple and it is epidemic in
the music-making world today, professional and amateur alike. They’d lost sight
of the objective, and then redoubled their effort. The predecessor band had as
its goal that of using superb musical performance to bring the message of Christ
Jesus to as many as listened to them play. Music was a strategic tool toward
that end. Message first, music but the tool. They strove mightily, and with
redoubtable success, to reach the highest musical performance standard possible,
but never at the expense of the message of Christ Jesus. Dare I say the message of
the music itself?
The latter-day band had obviously
torn a page from the English contest band movement and applied it thoughtlessly
to Salvation Army music making. In that movement, music is the slave of
accuracy. Further, contest bands have no deeper mission as in Salvation Army
banding. Some call it “professionalism”, but I must remind the reader that being
professional has nothing whatever to do with competence, only with receiving pay
for an endeavor. The frequently derided word amateur comes from the root word
amare, meaning, “to love”. A strumpet is a professional, a loving wife an
amateur. Modern performance standards are decidedly “professional” -- more often
than not at the expense of music.
As years passed I saw yet another
eminent bandmaster take the podium of that august ensemble and still another –
each time the level of technical excellence seemed to redouble while the musical
excellence and spiritual emphasis faded in direct proportion to the technical
advancement. Today it would be hard to imagine any standard that might be higher
in technique, or one seemingly lower in elemental focus.
I have never quite understood the
brass band contesting movement as it has always held technique above music. The
band that plays the most notes, the fastest/slowest and the loudest/quietest,
and the most accurately – becomes champion. While musical excellence eventually
does enter the judging process, it is only obliquely after that above-mentioned
standard is reached. Music never trumps technique. It was for this reason that
at least one superlative man and musician, my late friend Philip B. Catelinet
decried the very idea of band contests. This took courage (which Phil never
lacked!) for an Englishman making his living as a performer, conductor and
composer.
I do not for one second believe that
any of the bandsmen and leaders alluded to above are less righteous than those
of old. In fact one could perhaps postulate the contrary and occasionally be on
fairly safe ground. Why then this ill-focused music making? I believe several
forces obtain. The word “thoughtlessness” is an ugly word, but I can think of
none better. People seldom take the time to think through the important
decisions in life. We purchase houses and automobiles based on emotional stimuli
and seldom as a result of due diligence of thought. If one ever thought about
it, one would never ever purchase a new automobile as the value depreciates by
about a third as the key is turned upon leaving the dealership. “I just love
that car!!” We marry because we “fall in love” not because of any sensible
thinking. We then work at it to make a go of it for the next fifty years or so
to the marvel of all concerned. We are drawn by similar forces when we make our
music. We barge ahead in the light of the moment and do our best. Our best
sometimes gets out of control.
Having said all that, there can be no
standard that is too high when making music for The King of Kings. Herein lies
the conundrum we face today in both concert music and sacred music . . .
specifically herein addressed to Salvation Army band music. There is a further
riddle contained in the fact that music itself is often enhanced, or better
stated “fulfilled” by a sense of striving or human performance limitation. More
on that later.
As a Salvation Army bandmaster for
nearly four decades, I always strove for the highest standard possible for the
people in my charge. In fact, I have become aware recently that some
players/singers from my past hold me accountable for them reaching far higher
standards than they felt they were even capable of! However, in all those years
I was driven by the influence of such friends as the Army’s Central Music
Institute’s perennial guest Irwin Fischer, and other spiritual/musical giants
and friends such as: Eric Ball, Phil Catelinet, Bernard Adams, Emil Soderstrom,
(Colonel) Bill Scarlett, Norman Bearcroft, Ray Steadman-Allen, Bernard Smith,
Josh Walford, Victor Danielson, Dick Holz and Carl Lindstrom to name but a few.
These giant Salvation Army music makers (and many others) knew that music was
not an end but a tool for the building of God’s kingdom. Music has no other
raison d’etre in The Salvation Army. I would argue that real music has no value
other than pleasing God anywhere, but that’s for another discussion. However, it
is (or should be) an unimpeachable fact in The Salvation Army (your church name
here).
Before going into how to “find” the
soul of music, please indulge a few anecdotal illustrations of the problem.
Some time ago I obtained a recording
of a solo I love and have longed for a definitive performance of. The soloist
recorded is one of irrefutable ability, training, experience and renown. I was
in a state of happy anticipation - a state that didn’t last any longer than the
first few seconds of the recording. That solo which I aspired to play as a
youth, listened to on an old 78 r.p.m. recording featuring the composer as
accompanist and Will Overton on trumpet, was Eric Ball’s The Challenge. I
have several recordings of it and have conducted it many times with varying
degrees of success. My point is that I have studied the piece and sought the
mind of the composer in its regard (and discussed it in depth with him often). I
was once again disappointed by a performance that sought something, to be sure,
just not what the composer intended. It sounded as though the conductor and
soloist decided to make The Challenge dainty or elegant or something it
is not. Let me explain.
The solo was written in the early
part of the twentieth century in a country and within a Salvation Army that
celebrated mellow, short-model cornets – never trumpets. However, in this
environment which rather strongly eschewed trumpets in favor of their shorter
cousins, Eric Ball wrote the solo specifically for “trumpet” and not even
trumpet/cornet or some variant of that – “Trumpet Solo” the score reads. The
title, “The Challenge”, and the instrument designated, “Trumpet”, inform
of the composer’s intent that this be a didactic and heraldic piece. Just in
case that escapes one’s attention, there can be no doubt when the trumpet’s
first statement loudly intones perfect intervals as in a natural trumpet. Eric
made it clear that he wanted a “trumpetistic” pronouncement right from the
start. Now, there are many places within the solo where subtlety and elegance
are called for, but to bathe the entire piece in these colors is to miss the
obvious and to betray the composer’s intent. From the recording it was made
clear that the soloist and/or the conductor (perhaps even the recording
engineers!) were seeking something aside from what the composer asked and that
they indeed had found it. It simply wasn’t music. The technique was there, the
notes were there, the tempi and some of the dynamics were appropriate, but it
wasn’t “The Challenge”.
Another illustration came just a few
days ago when I made a most generous pronouncement on a performance of The
Eternal Quest by a young man in a band I had the honor to be bandmaster of
some forty years ago – Steve Webb in the Northern Illinois Youth Band in
Chicago. To this day I have never heard a performance of that solo of equal
musical prowess to that of Steve as a teenager. The musicality of the lad’s
playing haunts me to this day! I remember Eric Ball recalling the great
trumpeter Harry Mortimer saying that, upon hearing Denis Brain play the French
horn, he, Mortimer, felt like throwing his trumpet in the river. Steve’s playing
was just like that, it took your breath away. Now, having said that, I have
heard several slightly more accurate performances, but none that would stand
next to Steve’s musically. I doubt I ever will.
When discussing this with another
friend who had played in that same band in that very performance, also on
trombone, he challenged me. He had recently heard a performance of the
same piece by a top
symphony trombonist and pronounced that it was “effortless”. I
said, “you’ve made my point. And I’ll stick with Steve as your man’s performance
was boring”. He again challenged my opinion since I had not even heard his man
play. I then explained that the point of the piece is the struggle of one soul
in search of, and being sought out by The Lord. If the music is “effortless”,
where’s the struggle? Further, Steve was himself undergoing something of that
spiritual struggle as he played it. Steve had to strive for the music and for
the Divine relationship it represented – ergo a perfect performance even with a
few missed notes. It was MUSIC!
Again, recently, I came to own a
recording of yet another stellar player of international renown. This time again
playing a trombone solo. A solo that I had conducted for a recording with the
composer’s blessing several decades ago. I and the soloist (today a
world-renowned musician) consulted with each other and with the composer in
preparing for the recording. And, of course, spent many hours studying the score
for guidance and inspiration. Our recording was very musical and pleased the
composer. The new recording is a tour de force of nothing but speed. The band
and soloist play at such a reckless speed as to leave one wondering if they even
like music! The pace at which it is performed is not even novel, just asinine!
It is tantamount to the playing of Grieg’s Homage March at a circus band
tempo! Whither music?
Then there was a man named Josh
Walford . . . Josh, and older contemporary of mine, played euphonium in The
Salvation Army International Staff Band a half century and more ago. He
was the most poetic and musical player on any brass instrument that I have ever
heard and perhaps the most poetic on any instrument. This was not
because he played faster, louder or more accurately than the others, but rather
that he found the soul of every phrase of the music and he played that soul
through his music. His was not about “euphonium” or brass band . . . but about
music. He was not preoccupied with the bore of his instrument or making
every note sound the same in all registers (though he could do this better than
any I know). Especially when the music called for that velvet touch did Josh
leave all the rest wanting and in awe. He was not possessed of boundless
technique, though adequate for most things – he was possessed of Music! He knew
the old songs and the new and could deliver not only what the composer called
for, but the depth of spiritual expression carried by the sacred texts. Yet some
mock him because he dared to use vibrato . . . vibrato just like that of a
principal violoncello in any fine symphony orchestra! It escapes these critical
robots that the euphonium has for a century and more been affectionately called
“the iron cello”. Vibrato is good enough for arguably the greatest symphony
trumpeter in history, Adolph Herseth, whom the same critics do not find fault
with! I guess I missed my chance to inform my late friend (Toscanini’s and Fritz Reiner’s principal cello) Frank Miller, to cut out the vibrato?! The vibrato
haters can be on solid ground when listening to some of the most famous
latter-day contest band players whom receive no criticism for incessant, out of
control and out of context vibrato! They have the idea that every note in every
piece of music should be cluttered up with uncontrolled vibrato (if it’s good
for one note, why not all? Which fits the contesting band mentality.) Josh used
his vibrato to express the soul of the music and turned it off when a straight
tone was called for. Josh understood music. Even his mistakes were beautiful!
However, this transcends vibrato and
all the rest. Music is infinite and people are finite. The “vibrato debate”
stemmed from pedagogues that drummed anti-vibrato into generations of brass
students simply because they were incapable of inculcating music into them!
Yet another manifestation of this
missing-the-point-of-music has been the relatively recent “bore war” . . . the
manufacture of instruments that are bigger simply for the sake of being bigger.
This started when gradually the brass band movement crept closer to the
symphonic brass players where there had been a move toward bigger bores (larger
diameters of tubing of brass instruments). There seemed no end and certainly no
musical sense behind it all. Symphony conductors continued to demand more sound
from the brass and bores grew and grew. I recall The late Fritz Reiner saying
that the brass were his “only defense against the singers”. So instrument
manufacturers came out with a line of huge bore instruments and the thoughtless
masses within brass banding flocked to “be the first” with one of these trendy
new cannons. That they cannot make music on them is obvious to all but the
sycophants that rush to join the crowd. The result is that trombones now sound
like sick euphoniums and euphoniums sound like weak tubas and tubas sound like I
don’t know what. Whither music?
How can we fix it? Well, one cannot
put the genie back in the bottle, but one can perhaps hope to toss the bottle
into a land-fill and trust it is never again found.
We can fix it by looking to the mind
of the composer and seeking music rather than auditory calisthenics. If a
composer assigns a marking of “allegro”, what does it mean? Do you know what
allegro means? Contrary to common thought it is not “fast” but “cheerful”.
Likewise, “andante” does not mean “slow” but “walking”. If a composer scores
something for baritones when he could have used trombones, what is the message?
There is no easy way for a composer to imply the desire for a sense of striving,
but there is little question that this is desired at times. Composers know these
things and try hard to convey specific feelings that cannot be expressed in any
other way, using notes, words and dynamic and tempo markings to guide the
performer into the composer’s inspiration. Granted, such markings as, say,
mezzo-forte are not absolutes but rather relative levels of loudness. However, a
metronome marking of 88 quarter notes per minute is an absolute and should not
be played at neither 200 quarters per minute nor 66. If we look only to how fast
or loud or soft we can play something we miss any chance at experiencing and
sharing the inspiration of the composer’s art. We must look behind the notes and
between the markings to see what the composer has buried there for us. To
perform everything with ease often destroys the music itself. It is ego-driven
rather than art-driven, and both the audience and art itself become victims.
Why did Ball elect to write The
Challenge for trumpet and not cornet? Why did Stravinsky write the opening
solo in the Rite of Spring for bassoon when the same notes might be more
easily played by an English Horn? Why does Beethoven opt to drive a dynamic
climax to an unexpected pianissimo? Why? Why? Why? There are answers to these
and the myriad other mysteries of music. But we must seek.
In a marriage one finds peace and joy
only when one loves their spouse more than self or life. To make music one must
love music more than self or ego. Music is not a carnival stunt like throwing
daggers at a woman strapped to a spinning wheel!
I listened recently to several
recordings of pianists playing Cesar Franck’s demonically demanding Prelude,
Chorale and Fugue. The piece was written specifically to counter the trend
set by Liszt and others of shallow music exhibiting technique for its own sake.
Franck set out to make the same statement with notes that I am herein trying to
illustrate with words. He wrote a piece that would confront the Lisztian lust
for technical asseverations while at the same time transcending it into truly
divine music. The piece is crafted most adroitly with regard to structure,
modulation and emotional effect. It is musically/spiritually transcendent and
technically of profound difficulty. Of all the recordings, only one left me
teary-eyed and breathless – Sviatislav Richter. He produced sparkling clarity
throughout, quiet subtleties amidst frightening technique, and power with no
limits. When, near the end, the fugue subject comes in superimposed upon the
effervescent prelude and chorale themes, it is indescribable! (on both Franck’s
and Richter’s accounts!) Franck was incapable of egotism. Richter was an avowed
egotist but still the humble slave of his muse. Richter and Franck had mastered
technique rather than having it master them. Having done so liberated the depths
of music to them as now artists rather than mere note-mongers. This is the soul
of music. In the Richter performance the music transcends to the point that one
loses sight of the demonic virtuosity.
Sometimes the reason why music works
is inexplicable. I have heard, played and conducted Erik Leidzen’s The Cross
many times and it always evaded me. Finally I listened to a scratchy, old,
imperfect live recording of The International Staff Band under my late friend
Bernard Adams during a Scandinavian tour in the early 1960’s. The performance
would likely be sniggered at by many today because of the small bore trombones,
vibrato and other so-called “period issues”. However, Adams captured something I
cannot explain, and with all of the band’s alleged limitations, I finally heard
The Cross and wept at the beauty of it. Perhaps it was because this piece
leaves little room for ego or show, but plenty for The Spirit.
It was long held and often spoken
that there was something special about a Salvation Army band, and I believe
there was. With a few exceptions, to a large degree we have laid that birthright
on the altar of uninhibited superficiality.
During a Sunday service, a most
tender invitation for people to explore their lives and see if they should
accept the pleading of Jesus to be their friend and Savior, the man in the
pulpit simply said: “just get out of the way . . .” When making our music, we
must get out of the way.
I started this piece with “The
Challenge”, so I must end with a challenge. Whether making Salvation Army
music, concert music or whatever music, ask yourself the question “whither
music?” Let the muse drive you rather than harnessing it and snapping the whip.