Preparation throes

As Sam is furiously reworking the script for next week's "Inside the Classics" concerts, I've been busying myself with revisiting "Appalachian Spring". Conductors end up performing much of the standard repertoire dozens of times in their careers, and I, even as a (relatively!) young conductor have certain pieces that I've repeated often. The Copland is one of those pieces; I've done the original chamber version twice and the full version twice. So it's a very familiar piece (and one of the dozen or so I've performed memorized, without a score).

That's not to say preparation is any easier, because "App. Spring" is one of those pieces that will knock you off the podium if you aren't absolutely sure of everything there. Particularly unforgiving is the amount of rhythmic variety in this piece; Copland will present a theme one way and then repeat it with a slightly altered rhythm in it's next iteration, so if you haven't really carefully studied, one is prone to make stupid mistakes. There's also that middle section (starting at rehearsal 35, if you're interested) that presents a mixed-meter extravaganza, where the time signature changes nearly every measure. There's really no time to get lost for a split second in the midst of the excitement of performance.

There are a lot of ways to learn complex meter changes, the most obvious being counting it out over and over, then conducting and counting over and over. But I find that what helps me (and every conductor is different - there are those with alleged photographic memory, for instance, who have only to look at something once to have it permanently imprinted on the brain!) is to create a "graphic" representation of a piece, how its sections are laid out and how its meter groupings work together. Below is an example of a few sections of the Copland:



In my personal "notation", each graph square represents a measure. Meter changes are indicated, as are rehearsal numbers. Longer lines indicate phrase divisions (I also occasionally show micro-divisions within larger phrases) and notations above remind me of an important dynamic, instrumental entrance/melody, structural feature or tempo change. I don't do this for every piece, but I definitely find that it helps me develop an more in-depth understanding of how the music is put together, to see it laid out like this on graph paper. It might look oddly sparse - when I do this with pieces I don't know as well, I'm more prone to notate actual melodies to remind me what they are - but I have most of this piece in my head anyway, and I simply need a mental organizational aid.

When I was a kid I was obsessed with a Bernstein/LA Phil recording that I listened to so much that I can pretty much just "turn it on" and listen to it in my mind's ear. I try to avoid recordings because I find that if you listen to them more than once or twice they start influencing the way you hear a piece of music - not a problem if you're just listening for the pleasure of it, but a huge problem if you're preparing a score for you own performance.

I'm pretty conscientious about putting in adequate time to score preparation, regardless of the concert. Conductors get a bad rap for over-extending themselves and showing up to the first rehearsal only marginally familiar with new repertoire, and over the years I've occasionally watched rehearsals where this was achingly obvious. When conducting a subscription run, one usually has the luxury of multiple rehearsals so that there's a built-in "learning period", albeit on the podium. But when you're allowed a single rehearsal, as we have for Inside the Classics, Pops, outdoor and Young People's concerts - the bulk of my work with the Orchestra - you have to be completely on the ball from the first downbeat, which means I'm concert-ready even before that first rehearsal. Stressful, yes, but it has definitely reaffirmed the good habit of always being prepared!