The Art of Interpretation of Band Music

2012

INTRODUCTION

Interpretation. When put into practice, this single, powerful word has the ability to delight or to irritate, to illuminate or to infuriate. Conductors have the capacity, based in part on their musicianship, intellect, and judgment to create moving, memorable performances or confounding, disappointing ones. Conductors can take an average or commonplace composition and thrill audiences with a brilliant, unusual, or inspired interpretation. Conversely, conductors can take a masterwork and render it flat and lifeless if the interpretation is wrong, or simply dull, or possibly too accurate.

For conductors, the capacity for interpreting a composition is as fundamental as the capacity to give a clear downbeat or a cut-off (one may argue that even no interpretation is an interpretation). If one were to use the vernacular, one might say that choosing no interpretation, so as not to offend or take a stand one way or the other, is to straddle the fence. Nevertheless, to do so is to make a choice—and that is what interpretation is: making musical choices and decisions. Conductors make those musical decisions to bring about, at the very least, a coherent performance; that is the hallmark of what a conductor does. It is also one of the areas least understood, yet possibly most discussed. Interpretation can be solid and absolute (in the case of tempo or articulation), or it can be ethereal and subtle (in the case of phrasing or pacing). On the other hand, interpretation can be solid and absolute (in the case of phrasing or pacing) or ethereal and subtle (in the case of tempo or articulation). Therein lies the problem: the concept of the interpretation of a musical work is slippery; it depends on a conductor’s musical understanding and feelings of a work just as much as it depends on the abilities of the ensemble and the context of the performance (time, place, venue, audience).

A young conductor often begins formal study in a college conducting course, which typically includes the basics of patterns, preparatory beats, cut-offs, fermatas, and basic survival skills. If there is time, other topics such as psychological conducting, mixed meter, hand independence may be covered. Some courses may also cover literature, and the students may have the opportunity to conduct their peers, however briefly. Rehearsal techniques may be discussed and practiced for a day or two. If there is any time left over, the interpretation of music, via conducting, may be broached, if only for twenty minutes or so.

This brief description of an undergraduate conducting course, then, begs the question: Where does a conductor learn about interpretation? The answers are many and varied but remain incomplete. Speaking from my own experience, I have learned (and am still learning) about interpretation from various classes, in private lessons with my applied instructor, from my conducting teachers and mentors, from listening to others who are more knowledgeable than I discuss music, from performing music on my instrument in recital and in ensemble performance, and from reading a variety of written works. However, the most important avenues for my own education are active listening to performances of music by conductors and ensembles I admire, and from conducting performances myself. Much of what conductors learn about interpretation comes from trial and error. Sometimes that brilliant climax or subtle phrase that we work out in solitary score study or in rehearsal falls flat in performance. It is through the analysis of that performance that we learn a great deal about what works and what does not.

Conductors have a distinct disadvantage compared to other musicians. Conductors, particularly beginning conductors, may not always have an adequate ensemble on which to practice and test ideas. For example, if I read or heard some musical idea that I would like to try out on my instrument, it is merely a matter of getting my instrument and playing it to test the musical idea. If I do not like the results, I can easily change it or manipulate it in some way until I achieve the desired effect, or interpretation. However, if I read or hear some musical idea I would like to try with my ensemble, getting a group of people (particularly a full concert band) together on a whim simply to try out a musical idea might not be possible. Most likely I would have to wait until the next regular rehearsal session, which may not occur for several weeks. Until then, I have to let the idea rest in my imagination until I can actually practice the idea.

Interpretation is the lifeblood of musical performance. Without an interpretation of some kind, music, such as it is, exists temporally as organized sound and silence, notes and rhythms. To quote one of my teachers, Who cares about that? I submit that the answer is that no one cares about mere notes and rhythms. People do care, however, about musical performances that speak to them on a deeper level, be it emotional, intellectual, or some combination. This deep connection with the listener is achieved when the conductor of an ensemble carefully crafts a musical interpretation that seeks to delve beyond mere notes and rhythms, sounds and silences, to uncover layers of meaning that live and breathe beneath the surface of the written music.

CHAPTER 1

Mark Walker

INTERPRETATION

Interpretation is the act of making musical decisions based upon the knowledge of the score, composer, style, history, context, and other criteria. Berenson writes that interpretation focuses on bringing out what is contained within the music, on what is perceived and what is to be discovered and rendered audible.¹ This act, which is also an art, can result in either a transformational, elegiac performance of a work or an irritating, debased performance of a work, depending on a particular interpretation. Conductors are fond of discussing interpretive aspects and points of interest of composers and their music, especially if a certain composer’s oeuvre demands certain interpretive considerations. Similarly, it is also a well-established pastime of conductors to comment on one another’s interpretations, whether live or recorded. One wish of conductors is that the music they conduct in rehearsal and performance will provide both the performer and listener with memorable musical experiences. These experiences take place in the imaginative space between the performer/listener and the music. They are a result of the individual’s sensibilities and what the music has to offer.²

Conductors should perform a composition the way the composer intended it to be performed. Why? Because conductors are more likely to perform a work with greater aesthetic merit if they follow the composer’s intentions than if they do not.³ That being said, several questions immediately arise when discussing interpretation. Should a conductor strive for an absolutely accurate—in other words, an authentic performance (or rendering, Gunther Schuller’s preferred term⁴)—of the score? Is the score an artifact fixed in a time and place, or is it a living, breathing (organic) work that exists in two places simultaneously? In western art music, the music exists in the form of the written score (a set of instructions), and it also exists as organized sound moving through time. Does that organized sound that moves through time have to be exactly the same as every other instance of the set of sounds moving through time? Does the notation provide every single instruction and indication possible for all possible performances at all possible times and places? Some argue that it cannot, and therefore there can be no one correct reading and no ideal performance.⁵ To go further, can there be tempo, dynamic, phrasing, and pacing variations based upon the ideas and feelings of conductors? Can conductors change their idea, concept, understanding, indeed interpretation over time, or is it (or should it be) fixed?

If we consider a score a fixed document or artifact—in short, unalterable for any reason—then we confine the work, essentially, to a sonic museum of sorts. Indeed, musical compositions are works of art that admit to several ideally admissible interpretations and that cannot be evaluated independently of the practices in which it is found and fostered.⁶ I submit that this confinement to a sonic museum is a practical impossibility, if only considering that a live performance of human beings will always contain some degree of variation from one performance to another, based on the current physical, emotional, and psychological states of the performers. Mutes fall, drumsticks fall, music stands shuffle, the musical page does not turn correctly or at the right time, notes are missed or cracked, mouths run dry, and concentration falters. Do the exigencies of performance count as interpretation? Of course not. Nevertheless, it is a hallmark of live human performance of music, which is a work of art intended to be aesthetically, emotionally, and physically experienced. If the conductor, performer, or listener reduces the experience of music to mere observation, then, by extension, there is no need for live performance of these artworks. If, however, the opposite is the objective, and the truth, then it stands to reason that some interpretation—variation of musical decisions by the conductor—is not only welcome but also necessary. This is true not only for the realization of the music (artwork) but also for the forward movement and growth of the art form. It is through the art of interpretation that music grows, evolves, transforms, and touches the performer and the listener.

Are there standard, accepted interpretations of musical works? Yes. Should these ideas be challenged? Absolutely. The act of—the art of—interpretation necessitates argument, debate, and the breaking of plates (metaphorically speaking, of course). Without a spirited debate, the art reaches an unwelcome stasis, possibly even stagnation.

That being said, I do not advocate playing The Stars and Stripes Forever at mm = 108 or mm = 144, or playing Song of the Blacksmith from Holst’s Second Suite in F on the beat just to make the conducting easier. (I have actually seen and heard this take place.) Ridiculous, irreverent, or weirdly unorthodox performances or renderings are not interpretation. They are selfish indulgences on the part of the conductor, the irritating emergence of the ego. Doing such a thing simply to court controversy or to indulge one’s fancy is not interpretation. Thoughtful interpretation relies on a thorough and deep understanding of the music, composer, etc. It comes from a desire to allow the composer’s intent (both the letter and the spirit) to flourish and to emerge in possibly new, but always informed, ways. Interpretation, even if new and possibly somewhat different, rests upon the desire to serve the composer, the music, the performers, the audience, the intellect, and the emotions. To wit: Interpretation does not build upon whimsy or ego; it is grounded in a foundation of study and service.

INTERPRETING A SCORE

First, the obvious: Conductors have to read the score. The score contains all the answers a conductor requires to answer the questions the conductor must ask. As mentioned elsewhere, the musical score exists in two places—as the written notation (instructions, if you will) and temporally (in time). During a rehearsal or performance, the score exists in those two places simultaneously. To those two places, we may add a third: the imagination, or mind’s ear. It is this third point of locus that is the most ephemeral. It is through the imagination that conductors begin building a relationship with the score and the music contained therein. It is through this relationship that conductors begin to make decisions, discoveries and, ultimately, an interpretation.

Upon the first reading of a score, ideally undertaken alone and in a quiet environment, I make note of important items: opening tempo, dynamics, key, time signature, style, etc. The first reading may or may not be completely superficial, depending on the conductor’s style and habits of score study. Some composers indicate a precise tempo marking; others use terms such as Allegro or Moderato, sometimes with qualifiers such as non troppo. With such terminology, it is helpful to know and understand the composer’s style and overall body of work to accurately interpret the indication. As conductors we must ask: How fast is Allegro non troppo? It depends on the composer. For some composers, Allegro non troppo may correspond to a speed of mm = 108, for others mm = 120. Some composers use terminology that combine both tempo and style, such as Slancio (with dash!) used by John Barnes Chance at the beginning of his Blue Lake Overture, or Tempo di Bourgeois in the case of Jager’s Esprit de Corps. This indication is a nod to the dedicatee and his personality, in this case Col. John R. Bourgeois, former Director of the United States Marine Band. Without an understanding of the composer’s body of work, as well as the context in which a particular piece came to be, conductors will have, at best, only a cursory, if accidental, inclination of the opening tempo, style, etc., of the work at hand.

During the first reading, I notice key changes, major harmonic shifts, meter changes, fermatas, and so on. Essentially, I note anything that is obvious and answers the question: What happens here? If there are unfamiliar terms and directions, I investigate the literal meanings and attempt to understand and interpret those meanings within the context of the score and, in a broader sense, in the context of the composer’s body of work and its place in history.

The second reading delves deeper. I begin to identify and analyze important melodic statements, themes, motives, countermelodies, and so forth. The harmonic structure begins to emerge as I read both vertically and horizontally. Structural items such as intervals, phrases, and rhythmic motives begin to emerge, and a feeling for the architecture of the work begins to take shape. Questions of form are soon answered: Is this piece in sonata form? Rondo? Through composed? What is the tone row and its iterations? Answers to these questions will determine pacing, not only in rehearsals and the subsequent performance but also in the understanding and internalization of the work.

Once the initial score study and marking phase are complete (or near complete), and I have a good idea of what I want, based on the indications in the score and my musical understanding, it may be useful to listen to various recordings of the work. This can be a controversial topic, as some conductors advocate listening to recordings and others do not. As with anything, listening to recordings for interpretive understanding or ideas is a highly personal choice. I have found that listening to recordings of works as a reference (and also for sheer enjoyment) by conductors and ensembles that I admire often brings new perspectives. It is almost a dialog between the other conductor, the score (composer), and me. Thoughtful, questioning, engaged listening is a useful tool in score preparation and in the development of a conductor’s interpretation of a work over time. To say that we are not affected by musical experiences, such as listening as an audience member or in private via headphones, as a performer in an ensemble, or as a conductor, is to say that we live with and experience music in a vacuum. As anyone can attest, this is decidedly not so. Everything we experience impinges upon our interpretation and understanding of a work.

CHANGES TO THE SCORE

While fidelity to the score and to the composer’s wishes is of extreme importance, sometimes I make changes. Usually, the changes are small and serve to correct balances, intonation, clarity, etc. Sometimes I decide upon the changes during the score study process. I may decide that a particular dynamic should be different or that the agogic accent should be a weighted accent rather than a sharp, articulated accent. Perhaps a certain instrumental color should be emphasized and other colors subordinated. There are both interpretive as well as practical decisions conductors must make to achieve the desired performance, based upon their understanding of the score and composer in conjunction with their musical taste and judgment.

Other interpretive decisions may be more radical, such as changing instruments, rewriting parts, omitting or adding instruments to achieve a desired and necessary balance or color. These types of changes are often made with the ability level of the ensemble or the available instruments in mind. While certainly interpretive, and arguably not in the best interest of the service to the score, considerations that are more practical are at the basis of these decisions. If an ensemble has too many saxophones and not enough clarinets, or if the trombone section is weak, changes certainly need to be made to effect a suitable performance. Of course, it should be understood that the composer’s intentions and the integrity of the work must remain intact and consistent.

It should be noted that changes of this kind have a long and somewhat controversial practice. For example, it is expected that a conductor will make changes in a march. Sousa did this all the time with his own marches. This has become performance practice, which has lead to the publication of several excellent editions by scholars and eminent band conductors, such as Frederick Fennell and others, that contain the most common performance practices of Sousa in printed form, often with detailed notes accompanying the score.

To be sure, conductors such as Mahler, Stokowski, and others have routinely changed or rewritten works that they conducted to realize their conception of the composition. This rather extreme practice seems to have fallen out of favor (for good reason), if it ever was in favor. Gunther Schuller explicitly denounces the practice as an ego trip. In effect, according to Schuller, the conductor is putting himself and his musical ideas (ego) above the composer and the score, to whom he or she is