Orchestral musicians: Brilliant, dedicated, intelligent and (occasionally) sociopathic. Read on for the top three jaw-dropping things musicians have ever said to me.
This issue's list starts with a mild doozer at number 3:
I mean, in and of itself, this is a perfectly acceptable thing to say to a conductor. But let's establish the context. I must have been about 19 years old; it was my second professional orchestral gig.
Two arias on one rehearsal, for a corporate jolly. A nice gig, if you can get it.
The occasion started with a fart, rather than a bang - no management were present, and the players just assumed I was a kid subbed in to play on the back desk of the violins. It's a little awkward to have to explain that, no, actually you're the one waving the stick, when you're the youngest in the room by about 10 years.
Hey ho. I just found that a little funny.
But I was incredibly nervous, nonetheless, and still cacking my pants in a pretty serious way, when - 10 minutes into rehearsal - I asked the principal cellist if the section could please crescendo more in a certain bar. And then came the sledgehammer, in a thick Eastern European accent.
"No."
.
.
.
No, as in, you all have sprained wrists on your bow arms, or no as a matter of principle?
"No."
"Okaaaaaaaaay, thank you. Moving on." (Deposits several internal organs on podium).
I reminded said player about this encounter some 20 years later and we had a good laugh - she also had the dignity to apologise.
Two decades on, I can understand why they couldn't really make a meaningful crescendo in that bar, as it happens. Lots of scrubby notes, a small section, and a fast tempo.
Ah, the balm of hindsight... But still, give the kid a break!
At number 2, with all the grace and dignity of a Vice President listening to a member of the clergy talk about human rights:
Literally the first words this person ever said to me, at the start of a 2-year contract. What a way to start a collegial (and, ostensibly, educational) relationship.
Most people reading this blog know, through experience, how wretched the mindset of a jaded musician with another 8 years to wait until retirement can be. I mean, the orchestral sector (and, in particular, the tenured subset thereof) veritably force feeds musicians into that miserable mold.
I feel nothing but sadness for this guy. He was grinning (to his player colleagues behind me) when he said it, but his eyes were as lifeless as the discarded offcuts of a filleted North Sea salmon.
To his credit, he retired the next year. Smartest move he could have made. I hope like hell he found his happy place.
-------------------
And, crashing in like a lump of burning space junk, at number 1:
OK, even writing this makes me guffaw. And scratch my head. Has feminism REALLY changed that much between generations?!
Get comfy. it's a good'un.
This was near the end of the 2-year contract mentioned above, by which point I was so battered and bruised by various verbal assaults (the F-bomb sneered at me by a player in a concert for toddlers, because one of the winds was slightly late; a cellist bellowing "are we still here?!" 30 minutes into a rehearsal, for which he was 20 minutes late. The list goes on...)
Every Sunday night I had to peel off the emotional armour of the week gone, to be able to walk back into the room with any sort of authenticity or generosity, knowing full well that by the end of the week I would be as encrusted as a clam again. It was agony.
But, because I'm a Pollyanna, I persisted in getting up on the podium and asking for feedback. Ha! It came.
"All the women in the orchestra want you to know that you need better fitting bras, because we had to fight to be respected as principals in the 80s and 90s with sexist conductors, and it's an affront to us as feminists to see your breasts jiggling on the podium."
Wow. Take a moment to re-read it, if you didn't quite catch it on the first pass.
The orchestral manager next to me let rip (she's the generation below me, they have much higher expectations for human behaviour). I just stood gaping and blinking, and I think I might have started hiccuping.
The mouthpiece for this monumentally awkward missive must have had a sudden panic about sexism and lawsuits, so she helpfully provided the caveat "It's not the men talking about it, just the women!"
I know love, I know. It almost always is.
To be fair, I have huge boobs. They droop. They wobble. I'm also really short and have narrow shoulders, so there are only about 3 bras on the planet that hold everything that needs to be held without encasing me from hips to nostrils in a beige, polyester straightjacket.
For the record, my tummy wobbles when I conduct too, and don't get me started on my double chin. I once had the nicest amateur photographer, who loved nothing better than taking shots in rehearsal, warmly try to discredit my warnings about how unphotogenic I am when conducting by eagerly showing me the shots on the screen. Her smile dimmed incrementally as she flicked through each picture.
"Oh."
She looked up at me with so much confusion and pity that I threw my arms around her to console her.
But, this story is not a pity parade. My body is as strong as a tank, as expressive and flexible as a willow, birthed a human at 41 years old and - as my mum says - goes from 5 foot short to 7 foot tall when conducting anything big and lush. Give me a pile of wood and an axe, and I will not stop until it is all split. Show me a mountain and my inner monologue will tell me that if there were one body on earth that could climb it without breaking a sweat, it is mine.
It's also really good at hibernating like a slug on the couch when the mood takes me, without too many adverse effects, and I love feeding it. So this comment actually didn't hurt me a bit.
But the audacity, and lack of empathy, absolutely floored me.
She apologised the next week...
...to the manager.
Enjoyed the blog? Subscribe to our newsletter to receive it delivered straight to your inbox
