James Gaffigan - Developing trust through music - part 3

Part 3 The Performance

When I first became interested in classical music, I had never experienced a live performance of it. My introduction to the art form was through recordings and playing bassoon in ensembles. My family couldn’t afford tickets to venues in Manhattan and it wasn’t until my final year of high school at my alma mater, LaGuardia High School of Music and Art, that I was able to secure student tickets to the New York Philharmonic and the Metropolitan Opera. When I heard these first live performances, I was blown away by the precision and beauty of the sound – I felt like I was a part of something greater than the recording or the score. We, the audience, were witnessing something magical on stage. It was communication without speaking; people working together to create sounds that were incredible, shocking, terrifying, explosive and multilayered. I was moved and amazed.

Today I obviously understand a lot more about what is really going on, but the magic is still there for me. What I can decipher now, through experience, is if a piece is under-rehearsed, or if someone is having a bad day, or if the musicians are unhappy with the conductor or soloist. Over time, I’ve heard the full range of “good” and “bad”. When I find the magic, which has only been during a small percentage of the thousands of performances I’ve seen, there’s been one common element: trust.

There is a famous conductor with what I would call a mixed reputation. He is very busy and doesn’t rehearse very much anymore. He’s always late. Sometimes he doesn’t even show up. This creates a great deal of frustration, yet somehow, he’s capable of delivering magical performances. I think of it as living on the edge. The players have no choice but to be on the edge of their seat because they have no idea what’s going to happen. This conductor gives them just enough information to take responsibility for themselves and then he takes risks – pushing and pulling – it creates a very special atmosphere. In the same breath however, I’ve seen some pretty disastrous performances from the same conductor. My philosophy is that this special container can be created with the right amount of preparation and risk taking. It’s a delicate balance of control and trust and it’s negotiated by the conductor. There is a ideal point in the process where there is just enough practice and just enough unknown.

Early on in my conducting career and throughout my twenties, I rehearsed like a surgeon. I had my plan; I fixed and controlled things. In my opinion the rehearsals were very productive but some of the performances were lacking. In retrospect I realize that I couldn’t let go. In the moment when something we rehearsed for so long went awry, I got upset. I took it personally and it would actually hurt me. Eventually, I grew up, as we all do. I married, had children, went through a divorce – there were ups and downs in my life. I came to understand that everyone I was working with had their own problems or baggage.

I began to wonder how we could collectively create a space in a rehearsal room or concert hall that is free from judgment or negativity. A safe place where we could leave our baggage at the door. Every performance has to be unique, inclusive of the three-dimensional lives we lead. Every day is unique. Sometimes there is a heavy feeling in the air, sometimes there is a buzz of electricity. The performance should be a reflection of this reality and a release from it. For me, when an orchestra fully “takes off” it resembles the feeling of letting go of a child’s bicycle and seeing them coast into the distance with confidence.

Approaching a performance as a conductor is about presence. I try to be in a place that is open and free, while also thinking ahead and looking ahead. It’s my responsibility to anticipate the needs of the orchestra. To present a specific example, there is a long, beautiful phrase in Daphnis and Chloe by Ravel that tends to get too loud, too soon. The objective when conducting it is to indicate direction, maintain legato and transparency as well as produce the sound of love all at the same time. How can we achieve that? In this regard, I feel that less is more. I work to reign it in. I stop beating – it’s not necessary. I use eye contact so the players can understand how special that music is and how much I appreciate the soft, controlled sound they are making. I hold the sound. If they get louder, the gestures get smaller. It feels like flight. And, if this framework is set up properly, when I really need a crescendo, a simple gesture or facial expression will create wonders.

What I’ve learned in performance is that there are some orchestral musicians who want eye contact in difficult times and there are some who do not. Take the opening of Bruckner Symphony 4, some horn players say, “Don’t even look in my direction” while others will say “Please smile and look me in the eyes before you cue me, I want the tempo from you.” This is definitely something one wants to flesh out before the performance. The musicians should feel safe and appreciated – they know when they are trusted.

With the conversations and rehearsals complete, the role of the conductor changes as they walk out to perform. Both the conductor and the musicians know the work they have done together. Once again, like being a parent, it’s a proud yet protective role I take on in performance. I’m proud to share our incredible art form with the public, but I’m also there to organize, and protect them from undue stress, or worse, shame. Inevitably, people will disagree with or have different interpretations of a piece of music, but most will realize when something magical happens in performance. 

We all need to be reminded once in a while, why and how we fell in love with music. Think back to that open, and childlike curiosity we once had. It was nonjudgmental, and kind. No assumptions, negativity, or skepticism. We as conductors need have to have our mind and hearts open to the musicians and the public. Let’s be moved and help others to be moved by our craft. Now more than ever, we crave human contact and connection; we crave that “magic”. And that magic is predicated on trust, openness and communication.