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Me-Mo-Ry! – Preparing: The conductor! 3. part

2022.12.02.
classical music, conductor, Máté Hámori, memory

Preparing: the conductor! (Part 2)

2022.11.09.
classical music, conductor, Máté Hámori, Mozart

We took our next fresh, crisp score at the end of the previous part and played it through on the piano thoroughly, just to get to know it. The instrument is important to me for two reasons: firstly, it helps to clarify passages difficult to hear at first reading, and secondly, the medium of music is physical vibration after all – and often what is not immediately “visible” on paper gets immediately brought out by the sound, for example the character of a theme or the significance of a counter-melody. It’s the same with poetry: sometimes you have to recite a line loud to understand, or rather perceive, what it’s about.

F.A.Q.

When closing down the piano, we reach a stage of preparation that for many (well, most of the) people is a mystical experience hard to perceive. This is the part when the conductor glares at the score blankly for hours. The most common question in this regard: “do you actually hear what’s written there?!”

Well, for most musicians, the principal weapon is inner hearing. Not much technical literature have I found, although I sought. . In Hungarian, Iván Vitányi’s The Psychology of Music is the most detailed work on the subject, but it does not fully articulate what this actually is. Based on my own experience, I would compare it to a simulator that mixes millions of sound samples stored in the brain to produce a sonic image that changes with each re-reading, initially being sketchy, then becoming more and more detailed, which the musician then tries to reproduce on his instrument or on the orchestra.

For the conductor, the process of learning consists in the grooving and polishing of this inner sonic stream, and precisely because of the way this simulator works, it never ends. I would venture to say that there is no point in time at which you have learnt the piece and you are done. We always arrive at a certain subtlety in this inner sonic image, which can always be further refined – of course, within the limits of the individual’s abilities.

Let’s say, for example, that the young conductor opens the score of Mozart’s “Great” Symphony in G minor for the first time:

It usually starts by getting to know the melody and hearing it from the inside – firstly at a tentative tempo, without dynamics or timbre.

Then he also discovers the basses he will mentally match to the melody.

Then, struck by lightning, he discovers the “diabolical” difficulty of the melodies the viola received already in the first bars.

He puts all this knowledge together and now hears a three-layered fabric – without tempo, color, dynamics or proportions.

Forgetting the good old music school mantras, it is usually only then that the eager youngster realizes that the piece has a tempo signature and dynamics.

He then begins to search for the right tempo, in which the movement of the first violin melody, the playability of the viola parts and Mozart’s tempo marking are all important factors. What the novice conductor does not know here is that they can only find a real, workable tempo if they have embraced the whole movement as described above and has taken into account the “tempo needs” of the different themes.

Now the real refinement starts: the brain slowly begins to blend the melody and the accompaniment with their respective violin and viola timbres, to establish the proportion of the accompaniment (30% bass, 45% violin, 25% viola), and to ponder the phrasing: does the musical phrase begin in the 3rd or 1st bar? (This is often the most difficult thing to mull over: in this particular case, for example, I don’t think there is a clear answer.)

This phase actually lasts the longest, and the more splendid the (master)piece is – the longer it can last. That is why it is possible to conduct the above symphony five hundred times, because the shaping of the piece never ends. Often, a different tempo seems more interesting, a counter-melody becomes more significant, a character changes: the pieces living inside evolve with us. That’s why you can happily pursue this vocation until you pass away, you can never get bored.

(to be continued …)

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Author: Máté Hámori

Preparing: the conductor! (Part 1)

2022.10.05.
Artúr Nikisch, classical music, conductor, Máté Hámori

I often – many times – get the question (of course following the most popular of the questions, which is this: actually, what is a conductor needed for at all? – but more on that later) how does a conductor prepare for a concert? So I tried to summon how this goes – in general.


A conductor on the Lenin path.

The only “wisdom” I can quote from the red-handed Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (only my first-grade certificate had a coat of arms with stalks, thank God) is also a conductor’s most important travel pack for a life: Learn, learn, learn.


Nikisch – the ancestor of the infallible tyrants

Of course I can’t write about how The Conductor learns, as this field includes countless cults too. I am not going to talk about the unrepentant geniuses who, thanks to their photographic memory or their infallible voice recorder brain, hardly ever learn. These included, for example, the legendary Arthur Nikisch, the great-grandfather of all modern ‘great conductors’, idol of the divine Furtwängler.

Nikisch is said to have had such a photographic memory that he often didn’t even open the score before rehearsal, and then played through the piece with the orchestra once, closed the score – and knew it. The whole piece by heart. Now, we can dismiss such people with a contemptuous wave of the hand, because they “don’t understand this anguish”, at least what the constant hunching over the score means. (It is of little consolation to modestly able geniuses that this Nikisch practice also has its downside. The story goes that Max Reger once teased the master, who was about to sight-read prima vista, that he wanted to hear the double fugue first from his new piece. He smiled for a few minutes at Nikisch’s frantic flipping back and forth, then resignedly noted that there was no double fugue at all in the piece.)

Beyond Nikisch and Kocsis, there lie thousands of conductors – including me – who learn either slowly or more quickly, doubtlessly in agony. As with so many things, everyone does it differently, so I’ll tell you how I get to know a piece.


With or without preview

When a new piece of music comes to the conductor’s attention, two cases are possible: either he already has aural experience of the piece, or he is about to conquer a completely virgin territory. . In a way, I prefer the latter, for I can’t rely on my past memories as a crutch, but the thrill of discovery is coupled with a completely fresh set of eyes and ears, which can be a very important aspect in the long run. As the first encounter is of utter importance. I am convinced that here, as in instrumental practice, a significant part of the learning/practicing process is nothing more than correcting mistakes / misreadings fixed during the first read-through / first playing. It is no coincidence that in a letter Mozart wrote that he considered a musician to be ready when he plays an unfamiliar piece of music put in front of him at first reading, in tempo, flawlessly and with a right taste (recently we would say LOL, or something rasher), because our brain is a formidable instrument: it records every detail perfectly in the deeper, not yet consciously recallable memory. Of course, I don’t know of any musician who could live up to Mozart’s expectations, so we mortals are left with hours and hours of study and practice. Bad luck.


Now there’s chemistry, now there isn’t.

For my part, I prefer to start getting to know a piece by playing it thgrough thoroughly on the piano. Of course, instead of Mozart’s manner of “in tempo, flawlessly and with a right taste”, I usually start the first round in a sloppy, repetitive, analytical way. And it is usually around the secondary theme that I find out whether the “chemistry” between the piece and me works or not, whether there is love at first hearing or whether we are in for a subtle, prolonged process of liking each other during the hours we spend together. When the torch of passion is lit, it means a great joy, because – as with real love – you can almost overlook the difficult, unwanted moments. Which is a bit different to works you “must love”.

One thing is for sure: one of a conductor’s main duties is to arrive at the first rehearsal with maximum preparedness, for on this rehearsal somewhere between 10:00 and 10:10 is where it turns out how the concert four days ahead will be. And there’s long and winding road to this preparedness…

(to be continued …)

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Author: Máté Hámori

Reverence, September

2022.09.11.
Academy of Music, Beethoven, Britten, classical music, conductor, Máté Hámori, Respighi

It all started on the corner of the streets Munkácsy Mihály and Szondi. Not before I stepped on the crosswalk, but by the time I crossed Szondi Street towards the corner of Epreskert, it was already there. The chocolate was already dripping, the pistachio was still holding, no one on the streets, the sun was blazing like a torch – as my distant relative Dide would have written. And then time stood still, and in my hand with the melting ice cream I found the perfect moment, the unspoken bliss of existence.

There are some things one does not out of necessity, but in obedience to some hidden, inner impulse. Sitting in an empty cinema alone, popping down for an ice cream, getting off one stop earlier and walking, smiling at the old lady on the subway. And such thing is listening to music. It makes no sense, it makes no profit, it does not “move the world forward”. But it can preserve that moment, the one that crawled alongside me in the crosswalk and led me by the arm for a few more minutes. It’s a miracle like the one Louis Daguerre saw after long minutes of anxious waiting, when the exact image of a busy Paris street was outlined on the glass – and stayed there forever. Poetry, music: timeless photographs of moments we wait for all our lives, often in vain.

The ice cream is gone, leaves will fall, days are getting shorter, streets will get crowded. Yet, that moment will stay with me. Thanks to you, Johannes! Thanks to you, Dide!

My September stop on the path of musical beauty and reverence:

21-09-2022: Respighi / Britten / Beethoven – Academy of Music >>>

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Author: Máté Hámori

Sound of the baton

2022.08.12.
classical music, conductor, Máté Hámori, Sound of the baton

A widespread, a sort of a “final argument” against conductors, rubbed preferentially to our faces by orchestral musicians half joking, half seriously: baton makes no sound.

The bon mot is true by not being true, being a blessing and a curse for a conductor. The only musician not making any sound (okay, many of them sniffle, gurgle or even sing quite intensively while conducting, but this is not necessarily a part of the artistic performance), still, he is the one who receives the most of the celebration (or derision) after a concert.

Why is that? What exactly does a conductor do onstage? And what does he do at the rehearsal? Why is he strolling along the street with a score in his hands? What happens if he flubs? What is the similarity between football and orchestral playing? Is a conductor really like a potato? How much does a tuba player practice? (Indeed, how much?) What should you do about contemporary music? Should opera houses be blown up or built up? Why is music the most perfect artistic form?

This blog is about these questions and more. This blog is about these questions and more. I’m not sure I can always give exact answers, but that’s not the purpose: I want our slightly enchanted world to be open to those who “just” sit down at a concert and want to have a good time, because at the end of the day it’s all (the concert hall, the orchestra, the instrument, practicing, the composer) for them, the audience. And we musicians, especially the conductor, are the eccentric kind, wanting to deliver as much as possible of the wonder that music brings to our lives.

Well, this is the reason why this blog has come to light.

Of course, one question remains: should a musician try to write at all? It’s a challenge that can go either way, nevertheless, uncertainty is soon dispelled by the teaching of an eternal optimist:

“No business without risk.”
(Fülig Jimmy)

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Author: Máté Hámori

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