con.duct--the art of directing a musical performance
Homonyms are words that have the same spelling and pronunciation, but different meanings. There are hundreds of them, if not thousands, in the English language. Homonyms are some of the reasons the English language is so difficult to learn as a second language.
A "crane", for example, can be a bird. It can also be a large machine used for moving heavy objects. Or as a verb one can "crane" his neck to see better. "Leaves" fall from trees. There are "leaves" of a table., Or as a verb, every morning your mother "leaves" for work.
A homonym close to my heart is "conduct." It can mean the way one "conducts" himself, the way one behaves. A wire can "conduct" electricity allowing the flow a current from one place to another. But the definition that describes how I have much of my time is the verb regarding my ability to "conduct" choirs, something I have done for most of my life.
So many activities involve "the art and the science" of that endeavor. Although the definition calls it an art, conducting a choir or an orchestra certainly involves both. More specifically, conducting encompasses one of the "formal sciences" called mathematics. A piece of music is divided into measures. Each measure has a specific number of beats. Four beats, called Common Time, is in fact very common. But a measure can have one beat, two beats, up to as many as twelve beats. Depending on the tempo and other artistic considerations, a conductor can conduct each beat separately or group them together. For example, in a measure of six beats, the conductor may conduct each beat or conduct two beats of three notes. This decision can become quite complicated in a measure with an odd number of notes such as a seven measure. In a faster tempo, the conductor directs two beats in each measure. But s/he has a choice of how to conduct the three or the four group of notes. The conductor directs two beats, but either the group of three notes or four notes can come first or second. That choice creates an entirely different rhythmic pattern. Furthermore, that pattern can change measure by measure depending on the intention of the composer, lyrics of a choral piece and the decision of the conductor.
Any novice conductor learns conducting patterns to wave in the air. Each of the groupings above requires a different pattern-- a four pattern or a three pattern, etc. There are several different patterns that music directors use. Again there are choices. In a measure of six beats, s/he might conduct a six pattern or a two pattern depending on the tempo and artistic considerations. The members of the ensemble depend on those patterns to know where they are in the music and what's expected of them.
My undergraduate music degree was music education. And then I earned a master of conducting at the graduate level. I know more than a little about the art and science of choral conducting. In my next life I am going to focus much less on the science of conducting and much more on the art. Maybe a wire's ability to conduct electricity and the musicians ability to conduct a choir are not so different after all.. The music doesn't just come to you, it comes through you.
During my years of formal music education, I learned as much watching conductors as I did in any classes of instruction. The conductor of the choir at my undergraduate level was a conducting wizard. He conducted as much with his facial expressions as he did with his arms and hands. Like a master puppeteer, he pulled the strings of his a cappella choir of sixty four-- eight voices for each of eight vocal parts The result was extraordinary. Each voice was a living, breathing pipe of that magnificent organ. For three years I was one of those voices.
It was my experience, however that his ability to teach the conducting method was much less than his ability to conduct. He said something several times in class that I took literally. That comment was to profoundly affect my conducting method for over forty years. He admonished, "Important too is the back view." I never stood before a choir without considering what my conducting behavior looked like from behind me. And then at the graduate level, my very accomplished conducting professor reversed "the sum of its parts" and disassembled a musical score to each measure and sometimes to each note. From mainland China, his English left a little to be desired as he often asked,"Class, how are you going to do with that beat?" So concerns for my back view and the science of each note became my modus operandi, The science is vitally important, and it served me well, but should not have superseded the art. Next time.
The best conductors, the great conductors are not too concerned about that. The art of conducting is much more profound than its science, They conduct with their entire bodies--hands, arms, head, face, shoulders, torso. Watch Leonard Bernstein in particular. He not only used his arms and hands, but used all of his body to conduct-- to allow the music to flow through him, He was especially adept at using his shoulders, but he often virtually danced on the podium to move the choir and orchestra.
Just like my undergraduate choir conductor was not a bad teacher, I was not a bad conductor. But in his case and mine, we could have done better. Instead of "Important too is the back view", he could have said, "Music creates its own energy, so just go with it.." And I could have taken his back view admonition with a huge grain of musical salt. Burt he said what he said and I did what I did and in spite of that much good music ensued.
One incredible irony of the universe we live in is that just as you can't escape the science of art, science can't escape its art. In the early 20th century Albert Einstein postulated in his theory of relativity the existence of gravitational waves. Just in the last two years the scientists of the LIGO project (laser interferometer gravitational-wave observatory) have discovered these waves millions of light years away. The waves of gravity no longer exist only in Einstein's mind, but they actually exist. And as the fates would have it, these waves are singing. They are not only singing, but they are singing on middle C. Art can't escape science and science can't escape art. Then is Someone conducting these waves? That is a question more for theologians than for scientists.
But in my next life I may come back not as an artist, but as a scientist. Both the infinite macrocosm of the cosmos and the microcosm of quantum physics excite me. The science would be the main course of study, but the art would not be far away. While studying calculus at another college later in life, for the first time I understood the adage "the beauty of math." I actually derived aesthetic pleasure from this formal science. It was the most demanding course of study in all my years of education, but my barely passing grade was one of the most satisfying accomplishments of my academic life.
Art and science are opposite sides of the same coin. They can't be separated. During all those years as I demonstrated the science of conducting, the artist was at work as well. The music of those choirs I conducted could have been better, but if I had not been standing on that podium the music wouldn't have existed at all.
I'm listening to Ola Gjeilo's The Spheres for choir and string ensemble. It is written in 2/2. Two beats in each measure and the half note gets the beat. I would direct it in two. But the tempo is so slow and the music so fluid. I think I could conduct it with only my head and face. My undergraduate conducting instructor would say, "I rest my case. The back view is perfect. And the music is perfect too." "Thanks for your instruction, It made all the difference in the world. And I love my world."
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