The flute. Annoying, loud, high pitched. Smooth, eerie, haunting. Beautiful, clear, soaring. The most amazing instrument to ever exist. Whatever you think when you hear the words “the flute,” it cannot be denied that it has been instrumental in the development of cultures around the world. As a flautist, I am vastly interested in the effects that my favorite instrument has had on this world. So, this semester I decided to take a class called Extended Learning Internship -- essentially a class where I could study in depth a topic of my choice. Naturally, I chose the flute.
When I decided on the topic of the flute, I determined three goals. The first was to develop my own technique and ability through learning pieces and taking part in honor bands. The second was to discover the history of the flute. The third was to learn more about my pieces and their composers to better understand the context of the piece. My first goal, being the largest, quickly became the biggest devotion of my time. In fact, I worked almost entirely on my first two goals, promising myself I’d save the third for the end. However, information works in mysterious ways, and my third goal took me by surprise a week ago.
I was minding my own business, setting up my seat and stand as the second chair flute in the All-National band, when I glanced at the name of our conductor and then the name of the composer of one of the pieces we were playing. You can imagine my surprise when I realized the two names were one and the same. You can imagine my even greater surprise when the composer of the unpublished piece we were playing was introduced as the boy my age hiding behind the piano.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I was not completely unprepared for the All-National band. I had practiced my music, and I am sure somewhere in my brain the connection had been made that our conductor was the composer of one of our pieces, but that area of my brain just hadn’t let me know. My surprise was so great because I had never played a piece conducted by the composer.
Consider it. If you are a musician and play off sheet music, you may have noticed the composer’s name in the upper right corner. How much attention did you pay to this name, besides glancing at it? Personally, for band music, past that first glance I almost never think of it again and instead focus on my conductor’s interpretation. I tend to pay a bit more attention to the composers of the flute repertoire I play, but not much. I had never considered how the composers had felt when writing out their pieces, or what their inspiration was, or the exact sounds they heard in their heads. In my moment of realization, all that changed.
My conductor, Professor Mark Camphouse of George Mason University, composed his first symphony at age seventeen. He has been composing since, as well as teaching trumpet and directing college bands. The piece we were playing that he had composed was titled “The Shining City.” The piece included a speaker reading excerpts of Ronald Reagan’s speeches as the band played background music. My research beforehand of the piece had been brief, and not being a fan of Reagan, I had sighed and returned my overworked brain to college applications.
At our first rehearsal of the piece, our conductor, the composer, stepped off and explained the meaning and purpose of his work. He explained that this piece was not about Reagan as a politician, but rather about Reagan the person. Professor Camphouse talked about how he hadn’t necessarily supported Reagan’s policies, but liked him as a person and admired his unsurpassed skills in writing and speeches. He had been wanting to write a piece about Reagan for a while when he received a commission from the University of Illinois to write “whatever he wanted.” Professor Camphouse took the opportunity. He compiled his favorite and most moving Reagan speeches and writings and set them to music. The piece detailed the life of Reagan from birth to his eventual death through Alzheimer’s. The professor at the University of Illinois who had commissioned the piece saw the title and score of the piece, called up Dr. Camphouse, said “I hate Ronald Reagan,” and hung up the phone.
In short, the reaction of the professor from the University of Illinois was similar to mine. But it wasn’t until we heard from the composer’s own mouth his reasons and motivations for writing the piece, and then heard the piece performed under his direction that we understood. In fact, there were tears in my eyes near the end of the piece when we played it in its entirety. The context the composer had given us, along with being able to instill his original intentions into the piece with more than can be conveyed on paper, enabled us to play the piece with the entirety of the intended emotion. In short, I had achieved part of my third goal unexpectedly. I had learned more than I thought possible about the composer and background of a piece in a few short days.
My other surprise composer meeting, however, took an even more emotional turn. Seconds after our conductor had told us to get out “Altitude,” he introduced the shy boy behind the piano as the composer of the piece, Vaibhav Mohanty. I had been confused about this piece when we first got the music as it was unpublished and searches of the composer revealed nothing. It turned out that Mohanty was a senior in high school who had won the NAfME young composer’s contest. The prize was having the band perform his piece.
Throughout the week, we had several question and answer sessions with Mohanty about his piece and approaches to composing. We learned that “Altitude” had been inspired simply by a rhythm that floated through his head during math class. Mohanty explained to us his hopes and dreams as we asked questions, and then a trumpet player asked the most important question. In my opinion, it was one of the few valuable things to come out of a trumpet section I’d heard. But I digress. The question was, “Would you like to conduct us playing this piece?” Mohanty, standing behind the conductor, shook his head and mouthed choice words at the asker, obviously not wanting to risk potentially embarrassing himself. Unfortunately for Mohanty, at least in the moment, the conductor agreed with the trumpet player.
Professor Camphouse took Mohanty aside and they had a quiet conversation where the seasoned composer convinced the budding composer that conducting one’s own pieces was actually very enjoyable. Mohanty said he’d try. He picked up the baton, gave two prep beats, and the band was off. Sitting in the front row, I watched his face change as he brought his own music to life. The piece was played exactly as he intended and the emotion of both composer and band was palpable. As we played, and afterwards, Mohanty’s face was transformed by a face-splitting grin. He was so incredibly happy to breathe life into his own music, and we were bursting with happiness for him. It was an experience unlike any other. We then asked him if he wanted to conduct at the concert, but Mohanty drew the line at that.
Though I had not actually learned much directly about my third goal of exploring the lives of the composers of my repertoire, I had learned the importance of seeing the composers as people, not just names on a paper or vague historical figures in paintings. I realized that my third goal was key to my other two, and definitely worth exploring earlier than later. In meeting and being conducted by these two vastly different composers, I had learned the importance of the story behind the music.
~Meadow
No comments:
Post a Comment