Little girly gesture language

I sang, at one point, for a (long-term substitute) conductor who did a lot of talking about how our choir needed to learn his "gesture language" if we were to follow him correctly. Every rehearsal, he used that phrase at least once, often accompanied by a sort of wilted clawing motion of his right hand. It became something of a running joke in the alto section; after all, isn't it HIS job to make himself clear? If he's not getting what he wants, shouldn't he try something else? As a conductor-in-training at that time, I was skeptical of what I perceived to be a rather whiny approach to the ensemble and a too-narrow conducting "dialect" on his part. Shouldn't the conductor model, insofar as is possible, the geist of the music on the page, so that the singers may then do the same?

Well, yes. But.

Also, at various points in my career, I have sung for a few "colorful" (read "temperamental, sometimes downright abusive") conductors. You know the stereotype--hollering, baton-throwing, blaming the ensemble for not achieving his (yes, his) superior interpretive vision. Some of these guys were truly visionary; some were just socially impaired and/or insecure. All of them got in the way of my participation and enjoyment as a singer, to varying degrees.

For the most part, now that I've conducted a number of different groups myself, I still think it's true that the conductor bears most of the responsibility for communicating interpretation and vision clearly and succinctly. If my choirs don't get what I'm asking of them, I think it's incumbent upon me to take a fresh approach. Sometimes that involves watching myself conduct a passage several different ways in the mirror. Sometimes it involves finding the right metaphor. Sometimes it's a question of vocal technique. And sometimes--heresy of heresies--it means asking them what they see/hear, and altering my own vision in a more collaborative direction.

When I was in grad school, I decided that I would spend my career finding out if it's possible to make really terrific music with people without turning into a tyrant. Because I believe that it's my job to engage people in the music making, but maybe it's not my job to have all the answers. I've got more training and spend more time thinking about the music than most (not all) of my singers; however, they are bright and talented and insightful, and I'd be stupid not to take that seriously. Does this make me, as Hans und Franz might say, a "little girly conductor?"


Because this is not how most musical ensembles operate. We are used to the sometimes-benevolent dictatorship model. What the conductor says, goes. Period.

Much of the time, this is a practical, time-saving teaching model (as the conductor has completed years of training, analyzed the musical score, thought through interpretation and technique, etc.); however, in order to maintain a healthy relationship, conductors and ensembles need to be open to one another, to really see and hear one another.

There are two main obstacles that prevent this open communication. One is the "conductor's ego as group's raison d'etre" situation I've already mentioned, in which the conductor can't see the ensemble as anything other than a means to an end. The other unhealthy situation arises when the ensemble refuses to really hear what the conductor is saying, for any of a variety of reasons. Orchestral conductor Marin Alsop describes one such dilemma:

When a woman makes a gesture,
the same gesture as a man,
it's interpreted entirely differently.
The thing I struggled with the most
was getting a big sound from the brass
because you really have to be strong.
But if you're too strong,
you're a b-i-t-c-h.
As a woman,
you have to be careful that it's not too harsh.
It's a subtle line.

--Marin Alsop, to Barbara Kantrowicz of Newsweek

There is truth in this statement. I have experienced this from a couple of different angles; first, the one that Maestra Alsop mentions. Directness looks to some singers like anger...especially in the world of "Minnesota Nice." However, the converse is also true. If I operate from a less aggressive, more collaborative framework, it has sometimes been treated as a sign of weakness. And, based on many musicians' previous experience, no wonder:

Conductors have for so long been promoted
as imposing, larger than life,
acceptably aggressive personalities
who bend orchestras to their will
and to whom musicians submit in reverence and terror.

--as observed by Anna Hodgson, Contemporary Review

Hodgson really wrote an interesting article on the dearth of women orchestral conductors, BTW.

I really don't see "reverence and terror" as a useful model of musical leadership...and CERTAINLY not of ministry. I'd like to propose an alternative--that conductors and singers should do two things:

• commit to doing everything they can to bring to life what's on the page in front of them, and
  
• treat one another with respect.

I think it looks something like this:

I promise to

• prepare for rehearsal and share what I know
• engage my Inner Diagnostician
  
• offer music that's worth doing and skill-appropriate
• start and end rehearsal on time
• not yell at or embarrass people
• admit when I'm wrong
  
• make our work together as inspiring and fun as I can, which is my way of saying "thank you" for their work and bravery and creativity and time.

In return, I want my singers to

• come to rehearsal on time
• trust that I'm trying to bring out their best as musicians
• take care of their voice and use it well
• have a pencil and use it!
  
• be brave and willing to try something new
• ask thoughtful, economical questions
  
• have a sense of humor about what we're doing, tempered with a bit of wonder.
  

I want them to really engage with the music. And I want them to not care about my gender, sexual orientation, race, age and the fact that I prefer jeans to skirts. And--this is a big one--if something is wrong, or if they have a helpful idea, I want them to be able to approach me about it, without the slightest fear that I'll throw a baton at them.

My experience teaches me that this model bears much more fruit than an arena of drama. I've been blessed to conduct some delightful groups, made up of wonderful human beings. When I'm on that podium, I don't think the experience should be about whether or not I'm a "girly" conductor. It should be about bringing to life the music on the page in front of us. My "gesture language" is only one means to that end...not even the most important one. My ears (and theirs) are another, as well as our minds. And, most importantly, the full, joyous, brave participation of my singers.

If all of that is working, we can lift right off the floor together.