HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

Gerald Elias has spent many years as a professional orchestral violinist – in the Boston SO and Utah Symphony – and has been music director of Salt Lake City’s Vivaldi by Candlelight chamber orchestra since 2004. Here he explores some of the universal challenges faced by orchestral string players which go unrecognised by audiences

Two possible ways to arrange orchestral string sections: Simon Rattle conducts the London Symphony Orchestra in the standard seating arrangement of second violins to the left of the firsts;

 while John Eliot Gardiner directs the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique in the Baroque seating arrangement of second violins to the conductor’s right

UNMUSICAL CHAIRS 

If you’ve lived in your house for 20 years, imagine your disorientation if one day you arrive home to find all the furniture in the wrong places. Your bed’s in the kitchen. Your couch is in the garage. Holy feng shui!

Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it’s not unlike what orchestral string players experience when a guest conductor reconfigures the onstage seating.

Although there are some valid historic and acoustic reasons for occasionally rearranging the deckchairs, it’s fairly standard today for second violins to sit to the left of the firsts, with violas, cellos and basses on the other side of the stage. When I conduct my Baroque orchestra for Vivaldi by Candlelight in Salt Lake City, for example, the first violins are to my left – they’re the lucky ones; no one ever bothers their seating – and the seconds are to my right, so they can be equally seen and heard, because so much Baroque music features the interplay between violins. My violas are to the left of the first violins, enabling their instruments to face outwards – thus helping to unveil their beguiling inner musical line. The harpsichord is placed centrally, facing me. Cellos and basses are to the right of the second violins, which crucially places the basso contingent next to the harpsichordist’s left hand, which is the part they essentially double. But I can’t overemphasise that what makes this whole arrangement work smoothly is that the musicians are used to it: we’ve done it the same way for 15 years.

As an orchestral violinist, I’ve endured some certifiably bizarre seating arrangements. The Utah Symphony once had a guest maestro conducting Mendelssohn’s magnificent oratorio Elijah, and he positioned the full chorus at the front of the stage, standing, and the orchestra behind it, sitting! The conductor insisted that that was how Mendelssohn did it, but you can imagine the visibility and ensemble problems. A periscope would have helped, but as it wasn’t invented until 1854, eight years after Elijah was composed and premiered, that solution would have been troublingly anachronistic. What guest conductors sometimes fail to consider is that, week after week, professional orchestras often have a maximum of four rehearsals to prepare entire programmes, and striving for perfection is challenging enough even under the best conditions.

The lay reader (or even the conductor) may ask, ‘Why is making the onstage switcheroo such a big deal?’ Let me count some reasons:

1. Vertigo In the customary set-up, second violins are insulated by the first violins’ protective buffer. When switched to the conductor’s right, they’re suddenly exposed, not only to the audience’s prying eyes (and ears), but also to that disconcerting vertiginous drop at the edge of the stage. I’ve known many a second violinist who has opted to sit on the inside of the desk for this very reason.

2. Page turning If I’m a second violinist sitting to the conductor’s left and on the ‘inside’ of my desk, it’s my responsibility to turn pages for the ‘outside’ player. (I’m not sure why this is the tradition, except that perhaps it’s less visually distracting to the audience. It would actually be easier for the outside player to turn pages, because the lower right-hand corner of the music is within inches of their left hand.) From the inside, I have to lean across the desk and turn pages with my right hand without interfering with my desk partner’s vision or position. When the conductor relegates us to the other side of the stage, I’m now to the right of the outside player and have to turn pages with my left hand. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been sitting there playing and frantically nodding my head for my desk partner to turn the page, then cursing to myself at the last split second, ‘That’s my job!’

3. The music As a second violinist sitting to the left of the conductor, my nearest aural landmarks are the first violins, of course, and also the flutes, clarinets, horns and harp. That’s how I’m conditioned to hear everything from Haydn to John Harbison. If I’m to the conductor’s right, it’s an entirely different animal: violas, oboes, bassoons, trombones and tuba. I often cannot hear the first violins, my ‘fraternal twins’, at all! Nor can I see the conductor’s hands as they turn to the firsts, as my view is blocked by an opaque and inexpressive back. Even in the best of circumstances, when the conductor is facing forwards, the baton is directed at my section in an unfamiliar and disorientating manner. In reality, in this situation I have to relearn how to play together with my colleagues.

Gerald Elias conducts his Vivaldi by Candlelight orchestra

CREDIT LSO PHOTO MARK ALLAN. ORR PHOTO CHRIS LEE

To gain an appreciation of the challenges of reconfigured seating and of the limits of professional musicians’ celebrated versatility, I would propose to conductors that they try conducting a Mahler symphony with the baton in their left hand. ‘So you call that a down-beat? Hmm.’

LEND ME YOUR EAR 

In 2018, the UK High Court awarded violist Christopher Goldscheider £750,000 in damages for hearing loss and other devastating symptoms he suffered while playing Wagner’s Die Walküre in the Royal Opera House (ROH) orchestra pit (see Analysis, June 2018). Sitting directly in front of the trumpets, he endured decibel levels in excess of those legally permitted in normal workplaces. His injuries, including tinnitus, dizziness and disorientation, were career-ending and quite possibly permanent.

It is perhaps the core dilemma for an orchestral musician: reconciling the need to play music that by its very nature is occasionally very loud with the need of a musician to maintain exceptionally acute hearing. Simply put, we depend on our ears in the same way that footballer Lionel Messi depends on his feet.

The ROH’s argument against paying damages was that in the ROH, unlike in most workplace environments (a factory, for instance), noise is not a by-product of the activity, it is the product. They also feared the broader slippery slope – that it might become impossible for a music organisation pro vide a modicum of protection. Although from to perform loud music and stay within legal g uidelines. Notwithstanding these arguments, the court’s ruling required the ROH to conform to established workplace standards, a ruling which was reaffirmed on appeal.

Etymōtic Research’s ETY Plugs are made to preserve sound quality

GOODEAR PHOTOS FELICITY JENKINS /GOODEAR.COM.AU

To mitigate the decibel danger, some musicians use earplugs. The basic ones, small spongy cylinders inserted into the ears which then expand to become form-fitting,an audience’s perspective it might be somewhat off-putting to watch musicians insert and remove earplugs during a performance, no disrespect is intended to the audience, to the musicians’ colleagues or to the music. It is, for many, purely a practical necessity. Some musicians even purchase their own reusable, industrial-strength plugs. It should be noted that in the ROH case, Goldscheider had indeed been wearing earplugs and still suffered extreme hearing distress.

The Goodear Acoustic Shield is designed to protect orchestral musicians against hearing loss

Elias (front) in his role as associate concertmaster of the Utah Symphony

Another noise-reduction strategy, placing deflective Plexiglas shields in front of the percussion or brass sections, can moderately reduce excessive decibels. One of my particularly sensitive orchestra colleagues wore heavy-duty earplugs in addition to having a surrounding Plexiglas cocoon. That he was able to maintain his connection to the ensemble was to his great credit and my great wonderment.

One drawback of earplugs is that they unattractively distort sound quality. I don’t like them. They make the orchestra sound distant and amorphic and I hear my violin much too loudly in relation to it, but with a very tinny sound, like hearing tenor John McCormack on a scratchy old wax cylinder. Still, I’ve used them on occasion, usually during deafening Boston Pops concerts while in front of the percussion or piccolo or next to the fourth horn. Once, while we were rehearsing a Mahler Symphony Orchestra timpanist Vic Firth (always the gentleman) tapped me on the shoulder with his drumstick and said, ‘Advance warning, Jerry: in about 30 seconds I’m going to have to whack the crap out of this. Sorry.’ I thanked him for his consideration and prepared to duck.

ONE DRAWBACK OF EARPLUGS IS THAT THEY MAKE THE ORCHESTRA SOUND DISTANT AND AMORPHIC. I HEAR MY VIOLIN MUCH TOO LOUDLY IN RELATION TO IT

Andris Nelsons conducts the Boston Symphony Orchestra on Tanglewood’s outdoor stage

TANGLEWOOD PHOTO HILARY SCOTT. BRAVO! VAIL PHOTO ZACH MAHONE

Kӧnig & Meyer’s Sound Insulation Stand

Granted, it’s easier to eschew plugs the further one sits from the brass and percussion. My experience as associate concertmaster in Utah not only massaged my ego but also undoubtedly reduced long-term hearing loss and helped extend my career. Nevertheless, I’m cognisant of the deal I made with the Devil that going without earplugs could take its toll, but I decided it simply was worth it to hear the music with the quality that provided me with the greatest enjoyment and musical satisfaction. So far, I’ve got the better of the Devil. I’ve probably lost a small measure of aural acuity, but it’s arguably attributable to that which occurs with normal ageing – even for non-musicians. After more than a half-century of orchestral playing, I can still savour a pianissimo from the other side of the stage.I consider myself blessed.

To plug or not to plug is up to each individual musician. _ ere are no easy answers. What would audiences, who are after all our essential bene_ ciaries, accept as a solution? Softer music? Banning Wagner,_Strauss and Mahler? A_tinnitus surcharge on tickets to_fund distressed musicians? 

We’re listening. 

GO AND PLAY OUTSIDE 

If Fahrenheit’s experimentation with mercury had failed, he might well have turned to musical instruments at outdoor concerts as possible weather indicators.

Because instruments are made of a wide variety of woods, metals and miscellaneous materials like horsehair, reeds and animal skin, they all react differently to the weather. On chilly days, the pitch of a wind instrument tends to start on the low side, but as the musician blows warm air through the cylinder it will gradually rise. Unfortunately, the opposite happens with stringed instruments. As a violinist ‘warms up’ the instrument, the strings stretch and as a result vibrate a bit more slowly, so the pitch may go down.

A major challenge of performing outdoors is achieving the ‘concert hall’ sound. Part of the solution is technological. The Boston Symphony Orchestra’s acousticians at the Tanglewood Music Festival, for example, work wonders with monitors, microphones and amplifiers to create an ideal sound for the folks sitting in the massive Koussevitzky Music Shed and the throngs spread out on the great lawn.

For musicians, the primary challenge is getting their instruments to work properly in fickle summer weather. Sometimes it’s sweltering, whereas at other times, on late August evenings, it’s so frigid that musicians have performed wearing fingerless gloves. Sometimes intense humidity literally makes the instruments sweat. Then there are the storms, when the din of thunder and rain renders the music inaudible (and the audience drenched). Weather can make musicians uncomfortable, but more critical is its effect on their instruments.

How does an orchestra play in tune when the instruments are migrating in opposite directions? ‘Warming up’ the instruments well in advance so they reach their pitch comfort zone before the concert is helpful. But crucially, by listening! It’s a tribute to professional musicians when their performance is barely affected by even the most inclement weather.

The Bravo! Vail Festival’s Gerald R. Ford Amphitheatre

I ALWAYS HAVE THE HAIR ON MY BOW SHORTENED BY A FRACTION OF AN INCH IN ANTICIPATION OF SUMMER IN THE BERKSHIRES, BECAUSE THE DAMPNESS WILL STRETCH THE HAIR

Climate, as well as weather, is a significant concern. Because I spend most of the year in arid Utah, when I go to humid Tanglewood in Massachusetts I have to take special precautions. For example, I always have the hair on my bow shortened by a fraction of an inch in anticipation of summer in the Berkshires, because the dampness will stretch the hair. Shouldn’t tightening the bow solve the problem? Well, theoretically, except that when you do so to excess it changes the overall balance of the bow, making its responsiveness unpredictable and more cumbersome to play, which can result in injury.

Worse, there have been occasions when I’ve tightened the bow as far as it will go, and the hair is still as limp as 20-minute spaghetti. Worst of all, on one occasion the humidity was so intense that the wood surrounding the screw expanded to the extent that it froze the screw and I could neither tighten nor loosen it. Ultimately, I had to have it ‘surgically’ removed by a violin repairman.

The same thing happened to my E string violin peg the next year. It was stuck fast and, appallingly, a quartertone too low. The repairman laughed when he saw me again, got out a special little hammer and carefully tapped out the peg – but only after having to cut off the E string.

Long ago, before I knew better, I was playing at Tanglewood with a bow that had once had its tip broken. After it was repaired, the bow functioned perfectly well for years. Then came one of those hot, hazy and humid Sunday afternoon concerts. We were playing Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra, a monster of a piece with 34 minutes of non-stop, slam-bang virtuoso violin playing. In the first minute, I suddenly felt the hair on my bow slacken like a fishing rod when you’ve just lost your 20lb striped bass, and I found myself essentially playing with the wood of the bow, which you can imagine created a noise not representative of a Boston SO violinist. I couldn’t understand the problem until I looked at the end of my bow and saw that humidity had softened the glue on the repair, and the tip had come partially undone, like a six-year-old’s loose tooth.

What to do? I couldn’t leave the stage. That would have been disruptive and looked ridiculous. I couldn’t stop playing because the audience would assume I was either incredibly incompetent or equally impertinent. So I did the only thing I could think of. I continued playing for the next 33 minutes with my bow elevated a quarter-inch above the string. Perhaps my greatest virtuoso performance.

But it could be even worse. My very first summer at Tanglewood was as a student in 1969. I thought, I’m in paradise! One gorgeous sunny morning, I stretched out on the lawn listening to the glorious Boston SO, my violin case by my side. Inside the case was a beautiful (and expensive) modern Italian violin that my parents had bought for me less than a year earlier. After listening to the rehearsal I went to my next activity and opened the case with the intention of removing my violin.

Except the violin wouldn’t remove. It was stuck, its new varnish having slightly melted in the summer heat. You can guess my first thought: ‘My parents are going to kill me.’ I asked around and learnt that the Boston SO’s second bassoon player, Matt Ruggiero, was adept at repairing stringed instruments.

I brought my violin to him and he gently peeled it from the case. Observing the panic in my eyes when I saw the case’s lush velvet pattern perfectly embossed on the back of the violin, Matt assured me that it was entirely fixable with some patient, gentle rubbing with ground pumice. When Matt returned it to me the next day it wa s as good as new. He was my saviour. And m y parents never knew.

Earlier versions of these articles were destined for the programme book of the Boston SO when COVID-19 hit. They are used here with its kind permission. Two companion pieces on page turning (bit.ly/3hHf2YR) and sitting correctly (bit.ly/3oe0Rx1) are published on The Strad’s website

Utah’s Snow Park Outdoor Amphitheatre