An old piece of advice given to composers is to not attend the first rehearsal of your piece. I think I first heard this in graduate school, when I had written Five Rhythmic Etudes for The Ohio State University Symphony Orchestra, and Dr. Marshall Haddock was fairly clear that coming to the first rehearsal–as I gladly would have–would be a bad idea.
The performers and conductor just need a chance to figure out the big questions, to answer those questions in their own way, and to, honestly, make a mess. Composers can be insecure, and might panic at the sound of musicians–even good ones–sight-reading their way through the music that the composer has labored over, seemingly ignoring the details painstakingly put into the score one at a time, but also at the same time missing the very obvious big picture.
So, I suppose one drawback of writing a symphony for the orchestra that you conduct is that you must, of course, be present at the first rehearsal.
For my Symphony in G, “Doxology,” that was yesterday evening. Over the summer months, as it got closer, I became anxious about putting this music before a group–the Lakeland Civic Orchestra–that has grown to be my most cherished musical collaboration over the last thirteen years. We have come a long way, and had some great moments, and they have been patient with me as I’ve grown as a conductor and musician, forgiving my missteps and tolerating my preferences and foibles. I, in return, have tried to give them the experience they are looking for: meaningful music, played as well as we can, with opportunities for growth, and for community.
Putting this work in front of them was an exercise in mutual trust: I trust the orchestra to do their best with what I’m offering, and the orchestra trusts to put them in a situation in which they can be proud of the result.
It was the first rehearsal of the semester, so we began with a fair amount of housekeeping and preliminaries: announcements, passing out music, collecting information. It was like any other first rehearsal of the term. By 7:50, it was time to make music, and we turned to the first movement.
I had long thought about how to start this rehearsal. For better or worse, I decided that the orchestra should hear it as our audience will hear it: from start to finish, and so we began at the beginning. With a word to the violins about performing their natural harmonics, we dove in. We had a few absences last night, but a satisfying chunk of the orchestra was present, and reading overall went very well.
I think the first movement is far and away the most challenging–we took the faster sections under tempo, and it will take some work, but the music was, to my ear, mostly recognizable, and for large stretches, we stayed together. It still took about 25 minutes to get through the movement (about double the calculated time), after some starting and stopping, but I’m confident that it will arrive if not at my marked tempi, at least close. I will admit to being one of the weak links: the changing meter at this speed is going to be something that I need practice with before I can truly lead it with confidence.
We continued through the next three movements, with the members of the orchestra surprising me with their persistence, diligence, and willingness to go forward: again, this is trust between us, and it is working. Whatever concerns I might have had about a disastrous first rehearsal proved unfounded: we moved slowly, and at times haltingly, but no more than with any other reading session. I tried not to get bogged down in explanations, although the aleatoric section in the second movement took some time, but with positive results. All told, it was a successful and satisfying hour spent getting a first overview of the piece: I didn’t stop to rehearse or correct; only when necessary to regroup. I have my marching orders for the next few weeks of rehearsals, skipping next Monday for Labor Day.
My overwhelming emotion about last night is gratitude. I’ve asked 50 people to volunteer to follow my compositional whims, and they’ve accepted, so far. I’m grateful that God has put my life in such a way to make the Lakeland Civic Orchestra a part of it, and that the members of the orchestra share my vision for what a community orchestra can be. It has made my job at Lakeland a job that I can’t imagine leaving willingly, no matter how many sections of Popular Music I have to teach online.
After we played the piece, I waxed poetic about how I felt about the group: I think I truly would rather have them premiere this piece than a professional orchestra made of strangers. A performance by the Cleveland Orchestra or the Cincinnati Symphony might be good for my reputation in the wider world, but it would in many ways ring hollow: strangers would be paid to play just another work, with rehearsals governed as much by the clock. The result might be closer to perfection than what we will attain at Lakeland this fall, but it wouldn’t be nearly as personal, nearly as meaningful.
And it was a relief: this piece I have worked at for six years was not an exercise in futility. It’s a piece we can play, and there isn’t any reason to rethink the program for November 9–which is fortunate, because the news is starting to be out there. Last week in the State of the College talk, Lakeland’s president Dr. Sunil Ahuja, who has been supportive of the Civic Music Program, mentioned both the program and the fact that I was writing a piece. People are talking, at least in my little world.
Last night, one musician asked if anyone had played my symphony before, and, since we had just finished our reading, I responded, “you have.” With that, I have not only written a symphony, it has been performed, and for perhaps its most important audience, the people who I wrote it for, the Lakeland Civic Orchestra.