Guiding Principles of Conducting

H. Robert Reynolds

Through the years, it has been my privilege to observe many outstanding professional conductors. Early
in my career, I had the opportunity to visit the rehearsals of Carlo Maria Giulini, Zubin Mehta, Andre
Previn, and Seiji Ozawa. Because of my need to improve as a conductor, I went as often as possible,
always looking for something specific; but in the beginning it was disappointing because they never
displayed techniques I could use the next day in my rehearsals.

However, as I continued to watch these and other great conductors work with various ensembles, it
became clear that they all have three things in common: (1) a remarkable level of personal musicianship,
(2) an extraordinarily strong inner aural image of the music in all of its details, and (3) a passionate
determination to get what they want.

After that discovery, trying to understand principles of conducting became much more important than
simply gathering a big “bag of tricks.” After many years of observation and thought, five guiding
principles have emerged:
1. Ingest the music
2. Improve conducting skills
3. Plan and execute the rehearsal
4. Build player independence
5. Continue to grow

1—Ingest the music

Internalization of the music comes from score study; yet so few people understand how important it is for
a conductor to study the score, to be prepared, to ingest the music and make it a part of one’s inner self.
Too often, some look at it only in an objective manner.

A score is not just a map we can watch as the music goes by; it is our only direct link with the composer,
the creator of all these sounds. Unfortunately, this communication from the composer uses language
(notation) that is limited. At best, the score is still just a clue to the thought process; so, in a sense, score
study is almost like playing “Detective.”

We are trying to get into the conceptual areas of the composers, so we know not just how they think, but
can begin to understand them and grasp the feeling of their music. The two are related. For example, we
don’t want to make a crescendo just to follow the directions written on the music; we want to make a
crescendo because we know the composer wants the music to grow in volume, for a particular reason.
Otherwise, a crescendo is superficial. Not all crescendos are paced equally—one lasting four measures
may use 30% in the first three measures with 70% saved for the last measure—but the composer has left
only that single word “crescendo” as our clue. Or maybe the composer has not actually written the word
“crescendo” at all, but we know that the music begins to build at certain places. Remember what Mozart
and Mahler both said: that the most important things in the music are not found in the note, but in what’s
behind the notes.

The “feel” of music is so much more important than the “thinking” of it. It’s the feeling—the intuitive
understanding, the internal sense of the sounds—that we are trying to discover, then transmit to the
players and to the audience. Yes, we seek an objective knowledge of the music that is intellectual and
analytical; but then we use that information to find out how the sounds feel. It’s this tactile sense that the
really gifted conductors have. They seem to be able to “sculpt sounds with air.”

When we make music, we combine our interpretation with the composer’s intent. We should not take
“fantastic” liberties, but we must feel perfectly content with whatever we do, even if the composer were
to walk into the room. I remember doing the Texas All-State Band one year, when we programmed
Latham’s Three Chorale Preludes. In “Oh Sacred Head Now Wounded” there are no written
accelerandos or ritards; but occasionally I would take certain liberties—stretch this or that, hesitate just a
little before the cadence, or add a little ritard and crescendo to give a suspension more power. After
convention concerts, the people who come up to congratulate the conductor all have their name tags on;
and when somebody said, “I especially like what you did with “O Sacred Head,” I was shocked (but
pleased) when I looked down and saw then name “William Latham!”

Simply following explicit directions (or the lack of them) on the score is like learning a few new words at
the age of two and then trying to use that limited vocabulary for the rest of your life. We must continue to
ingest all kinds of music, studying new scores, growing with the musical times, and helping our
interpretive skills to develop.

2—Improve Conducting Skills

Conducting is communication—two-way communication. The conductor’s job is to convey thoughts,
perceptions, and inner feelings to the ensemble.

Many conductors talk a lot during rehearsal. I believe they have a need, psychologically, to get this out.
Their need is satisfied when the explanation is over; but communication is not complete until the person
to whom we direct the comment hears it, understands it, and reacts to it. Sometimes we stop after just
“saying” it—verbally or with conducting gestures.

The proper process is really a two-way conversation: the conductor tells the player (visually) what is
wanted; and the player comes back (in the playing) with, “Is this what you want/” Then the conductor
says (in the conducting gestures, not words), “Almost…but a little bit more of this.”

The conductor who wants to have a real musical dialogue with the players must always have listening as a
high priority. We must not simply give out instructions, but be very perceptive in the listening/reacting
part of the conversation—to find out what has actually happened with the music as a result of our
instructions.

Very often we don’t conduct what we want…and that’s good. Here’s how it works:
Many times we give instructions to players who do not give back what we want—we say we want the
music to be played this loudly; and it is played too softly. At that point, we begin to conduct louder than
we really want, exaggerating so we can bring the players up to where we want them.

What we do is conduct what we don’t want in proportion to the difference we want. We can’t just let our
motions say we want it mezzo forte because we want it MEZZO FORTE; but they keep playing piano, so
we have t conduct fortissimo (even though we don’t want fortissimo) to get the players to increase their
volume. Once they reach mezzo forte, we can once again conduct at mezzo forte.

The same thing is true of staccato, legato, or anything else. You might have to conduct more than what
you want. I believe a conductor should over-conduct a great deal—not in size, but in impact and
communication power. Over-conducting in size is a severe mistake. Over-conducting in communication
power is not.

DON’T THINK
On the podium, conductors should think as little as possible.

I don’t mean that you “go to sleep;” quite the opposite—you should try to heighten the aesthetic,
sensual, perceptual aspect of your music making, as much as possible. However, the more you think
(left-brain) the less your senses (right-brain) can be used, so the “thinking” conductor is aurally less
perceptive and therefore less capable of really knowing what is happening. For that reason, it’s best to
“think” only as much as necessary to negotiate the music and to keep your rehearsal plan on course.

We usually expend such a large proportion of our energy on the “action-oriented” aspects of a rehearsal
that we have little left for perception. (Did you ever notice that we can hear intonation problems at other
people’s rehearsals better than at our own?)

Monitoring while conducting is so important; and because no one can give more than 100%, we must be
sure the proportion between doing and listening is in a balanced perspective.

EXPRESS FEELINGS
The visual language of conducting is based on being able to communicate from the “inside out”—not the
“outside” things (longer, shorter, louder, softer), but how the music feels. How do the various levels of
staccato feel? How do they differ from the feelings of legatos?

Most of this communication is accomplished through the body and the face—not the hands and arms, as
so many people seem to believe. When the music’s personality invades our own and the two fuse into
one, the result becomes a part of our interpretation. The feeling of each sound—the color, the weight, the
texture—enters every part of the body naturally.

Conducting gestures should be innovative, creative, articulate, and uniquely appropriate for the music you
want to produce at any particular moment. Therefore, I think a conductor must try to expand personal
gestures (physical “vocabulary”) so they include a variety of meanings. There should be many ways to
conduct legato or smooth or mellow—not just one way that you keep using over and over. We all know
that students respond differently, so the more ways you have of communicating with them the better it is.

THE INTERNAL PULSE

Tempo alone is not a big issue, but without it nothing is possible. There needs to be an internal tempo of
each piece—inside the conductor and inside the players. Very often when trying to blend the elements of
tempo and pulsation in slow music, it’s important to sub-divide, using eighth notes instead of quarter
notes, for example. As we show the main pulses, it is especially important that the secondary pulses be
present inside the body.

GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS

There are too many people in this world who believe that conducting motions—if they’re nice and
pretty—are the answer to everything. Yes, “conducting” is a language, so the better language skills you
have, the more you can communicate; but we must understand that it is not a substitute for real rehearsing
and music-making.

There are just two principles behind conducting motions:

1. The way you strike the baton on the ictus (the beat point) is the way the players will attack the
sound. If you have a whole note crescendo, for example, you won’t strike each beat stronger and
stronger because that would show four quarter notes, each with an increasingly higher-level
accent. Instead, you might outline the beat without too much pulse, showing the crescendo with
the other hand, or both hands…or you might decide not to conduct any beats at all.
2. The way you move through space (after the ictus) is the way the players will move air through the
instrument. How much intensity do you want? It depends on how much intensity you use when
drawing your hands through the air, because you are describing the action of the breath.
The use of wrist and fingers, particularly in legatos and strong staccatos, is one of the most important
lessons I learned from my wonderful conducting teaching, Elizabeth Green.

In legato, the wrist precedes everything—it’s the first to go up, the first to go down, to the left, or to the
right. You draw your fingers along, almost like the bristles of a paintbrush.
When conducting strong staccato, it’s very difficult for many of us to keep the wrist moving (we lock it,
making the whole arm into a baton), so instead I would practice using the wrist, increasing the volume
until it feels good when you are doing a fortissimo with an accented staccato. Of course the moving wrist
is controlling the end of the baton, which is what people see. The goal is to focus the energy in a small
sphere that is most easily understood. If you have trouble getting the energy out to the end of the baton,
you might want to make a small ball of rubber bands on the end, or place a piece of paper there and try to
shake it off; or you could imagine trying to flip beads of water off the end and on across the room—
whatever it takes to establish the end of the baton as the energy source.

Use a baton or not, as you prefer; but don’t conduct with a hand that just happens to have a baton sitting
in it.

The power center of conducting is in and just under the face. Both hands should be at (or only 6-8 inches
below) face level so the players can see your face and hands at the same time. Keep a central focus area
(hands not too far out to the side or too low), except for certain exceptional gestures, which I encourage.
Conducting should never be monotonous.

BEAT PATTERNS
Adherence to the beat pattern has tended to block imaginative and creative conducting, which should be
less restricted. It would be better not to conduct the beats unless the players need them. Very often,
players need less than we think they do. Conduct the music. Help them understand how to play more
than when to play.

On-the-beat motions show “when;” it is the gestures between the beats that have to do with “how.” Still,
most band conductors tend to conduct by putting all of their gestures (instructions) on each beat. If they
want high-energy music, they hit each beat harder.

To get the idea of showing different gestures between the beats, you might do some imaginary
conducting. First, move your hands in the air above a large tank of water; then drop down below the
surface, and notice that the water offers more resistance than the air. Next, conduct through milk, which
is a little more resistant than water. Then add more and more resistance—through cream, chocolate, cold
chocolate, cold caramel. All of these things feel differently as you move your hands through the space, so
you’re learning to describe the energy and resistance factors of different sounds.

Conductors should practice beat patterns for the same reason players practice scales and arpeggios—to
make them automatic, so you don’t have to think too much. If you’ve practiced ¾, 4/4, 5/4, 5/8, 7/8, etc.
you can lock the patterns into “automatic pilot” and use your mind for more important issues and
perceptions.

We conduct on several planes. The general plane—normally somewhat below the face, maybe at the
chest-stomach level—is the one we always come back to; the players get used to it and know where the
beat is going to fall, so they can anticipate when to play. Other planes can be used for specific
communication (including cues), according to where players are sitting. For example, the flutes and
oboes may be in the first row, so their special plane will be somewhat loser than the general level. The
plane for bassoon/bass clarinet (in the row behind the oboes) is just a bit higher. The idea continues on
through the horns (in the next row), trumpets (higher), tubas, (about your hair level), ending with
percussion (maybe way over your head.) As you use these different planes consistently, players become
accustomed to reading “their” message and do not misunderstand. (“Is that really for me? Should I be
playing even softer, or is it the tubas that are too loud?”)

Cues are used most frequently to announce the importance of a particular part, more than to bring people
in (most of the time they are already playing). A cue not only tells that person, “You are
important…more so than others at this time;” it also directs the listening of all the other players.
3—Plan/Execute the Rehearsal
In rehearsal, you’re always measuring the sound you have against the sound you want; and once you
know what both of these sounds are, you can get on with the task of changing the first into the second.

The reason we rehearse is to bring out the music. Obviously, you can’t play in depth and enjoy
wonderfully aesthetic music if there are wrong notes and poor intonation. Eliminating these distractions
is certainly an important part of the process; but the goal is so much more. Some people believe that good
housekeeping (just making things tidy, lining up, tuning up) is the end of their responsibility; and they say
they can’t get to the music because all the details are not right yet. Well, we should put an end to that
idea right now. Everything grows together—the music, the right notes, the intonation, the aesthetic
feeling—even though it might not happen at exactly the same time. To think otherwise is like saying,
“We’re going to have to wait until the left arm is fully grown before we can expect the nose to grow.”
This is crazy. You can’t wait until all the technique is perfect before you do anything with the music, or
you’ll wait forever.

Most rehearsals succeed or fail based upon the personal force (pleasant of course) of the conductor, who
must be the one who is controlling the rehearsal. That doesn’t mean you should have the players as
“collaborators” (read Bruno Walter); but the conductor must display the leadership, the magnetism, the
energy, the charisma—all of those things while continuing to help the players to listen to each other and
use their own musical sensitivity as much as possible.

Warren Benson, while rehearsing on our campus for a concert that featured his music, told the players
“Always be ready for a musical peak experience. At any rehearsal, there is a chance, so come prepared.”
During that same time, he also said, “There are no rehearsals; there are only concerts.” In my estimation,
those are some very profound words, and I try to live by them, so that each rehearsal has its greatest
potential.

The full band rehearsal should be used for things the players cannot do by themselves (blend, balance,
tuning with other members of the ensemble); and it must also be a place for collective inspiration—from
the conductor and between players. Learning the right notes, practicing the proper articulations, or
training the fingers are all things that ideally should be done at home or in the practice room. We have to
make these expectations clear—for them, for us, and for the good of the rehearsal. Of course, this
approach is more “ideal” than is often practical; but shouldn’t we always be striving for the “ideal”?

Too many people rehearse rather “casually.” Actually, it takes a lot of thought before you can deal with
spontaneous issues.

THE ROOM
The same person will feel (and act) differently, depending on the atmosphere—church, library,
gymnasium, home, or rehearsal room. As the sculptors of our surroundings, we must give a lot of thought
to cleanliness, the organization of the chairs and music stands, what’s on the walls, and many other things
that take place before a note is played. It’s hard to engage in the joy of music-making when you don’t
like the atmosphere.

How is the room used before and after rehearsal? Is it a lunchroom? A casual hangout for “fun and
games”? I’m not saying these uses are wrong, because if people have been avoiding the band, you will
want to have a nice place where they can feel at home; but later you might want to make it just a serious
place for serious music-making. Remember that young people sometimes have difficulty adjusting to the
idea that the same place can serve two entirely different purposes.

THE MUSIC
I believe that most of the music an ensemble performs should be well within their technical limitations.
Just like the conductor, if players have to put out too much thought and energy in order to solve the
technical obstacles, they won’t have very much left for the music—listening to each other, matching
pitches, and watching the nuances coming from the podium.
Try conducting something that’s extremely difficult. The players pay practically no attention to you,
because they are having too many problems of their own. But do a chorale, particularly if it is
memorized, and immediately you’ll feel them latch on to even the minor nuances of your conducting,
allowing you to make the most music possible.

The main purpose of a band in an educational institution is to educate the students musically. Our job as
music educators includes helping players to achieve more technical ability, but it certainly does not stop
there. We teach technique to serve the music, so we can engage the students in heightened and deeper
musical experiences. In my estimation, this goal is best achieved when the music is not too difficult.

At the same time, I firmly believe that there should be some music in the folder that stretches the students
technically, because we are responsible for the broad aspect of their musical education. But let’s not get
hung up on the idea that if a composition is very difficult, that alone makes it worth doing. Some of the
easiest pieces are the most musically satisfying.

A SENSITIVE BEGINNING
After you get the pre-rehearsal aspects settled, determine how you’re going to begin—usually some sort
of sensitizing session.

Avoid the “band room sound” with everybody having a great old time—you know, “physical therapy” on
percussion and wind instruments. The problem is that this chaotic un-focused beginning results in
general desensitization, both physically and musically.

In these early stages of the rehearsal, I suggest you keep the percussion from playing, except for tuning
individual drums. Once that is accomplished, the percussion players should be organizing for the
rehearsal. You might want to write the order of the music on the board for everyone to see. Even when I
don’t do that, I always give my planned sequence to the percussion section.

Now, finally, you are ready to go about either warming up or tuning up, perhaps back and forth—some
warming, some tuning.

WARM-UP AND TUNING

The “tuning up” period is perhaps the biggest waste of time in any rehearsal. Not only does it tend to take
too long, but people begin to think it’s too important, and (worse) feel the issue of tuning (which is not a
waste of time) has been covered, so needs no further attention the rest of the rehearsal.

I think the tuning up period should consist of sounding a single pitch (Bb, F, or whatever you’ve
determined is the reference) while the section principals tune and everybody else sings. There is
something about singing that gets the sound inside your ear (rather that leaving it outside, when playing)
that makes a big difference because the pitch somehow becomes an integral part of your person. Also,
the principle players can usually tune quickly, providing the others with the kind of sound they can match
more easily: the tuba players are tuning to a tuba, the flute players hear the quality of the flute, etc.

If you have trouble with pitch during the rehearsal, I would go back and re-tune. I don’t do it a lot—
maybe only once during a two-hour rehearsal. To improve an individual pitch, I have them sing it,
because they can match what’s inside their ear, and that tends to work a lot faster than matching someone
else’s pitch.

Then you go through the warm-up or chorale-type composition. For all levels—elementary through
college—this part of the rehearsal is the most constructive for improving the sound and pitch of the band.

When I was teaching high school, I would have the students memorize chorales, usually in minor (I love g
minor), because minor chorales tend to bring out the “dark” sound, which I advocate. When players
memorize the music, they can concentrate on listening to each other.
Don’t just “play through” the chorale; it’s not a ceremony. The purpose is listening, matching pitches,
playing inside the sound of other people, and all kinds of things that are important in the process of
reacting to others.
During a tour of Michigan a few years ago, an excellent musician came up after a concert to say, “My, oh
my, I’ve never heard a band play that well in tune.” Then he launched into a series of questions, “What
do you do in your rehearsals? How do you tune?” Several of the players were standing around. I looked
at them and they looked at me, and finally I said, “ don’t know what we do. We don’t have any special
tuning procedures.” Then one of the players spoke up and said, “It’s not a matter of tuning to get the
pitch right. All the rehearsals are based on everyone listening to everyone else for all the details.”

Rehearsing is for listening; and thus the tuning gets better…along with the balance, the precision, the
musical concepts. They all get better together.

WORK WITH A PURPOSE

While on the podium, a conductor is doing one of three things:

(1) Active Monitoring. You are not actively involved in the music-making, perhaps just keeping a
slight beat; but neither do you simply tune out and let the musicians play. You are listening
carefully, as if you are about to enter into the action.
(2) Giving Instructions (audio and visual). BDs are very good at this—“too loud,” “too soft,” “play it
longer,” “play it shorter.”
(3) Inspirational Conducting. We are stimulating players, inspiring them to participate in a real
musical experience. We don’t do nearly enough of this type of rehearsing, because we seem to be
pre-occupied with finding and correcting the indiscretions.

THE WHITE HEAT TIME

I try to make the “white heat” portion of a rehearsal—the period of highest intensity—last as long as
possible, because that’s when you can get the most done.

Variety and pacing of energy is so important; but you are always moving toward a goal, with a plan that is
more specific than “run through piece #1.” You have to set certain projects and then go about achieving
them in the best possible way. For example, simply rehearsing from letter C to letter D may be your
greatest current need.

What tends to “drug” people, to dull their sensitivity, is to always begin at the beginning; so you might
want to start “3 measures before letter C.” This approach usually wakes them up, and they think, “Oh,
there’s a purpose here.”

Be as specific as possible with your suggestions, always aware that you must attract and hold the players’
interest.

GET/KEEP/FOCUS ATTENTION
Much of a rehearsal, maybe half, is spent attracting and focusing the attention of players. Otherwise,
even if they’re quiet, their concentration may evaporate out of the room onto the ball field, or to other
after-school plans. You want to be constantly challenging their attention span as well as their ears, as you
try to get the music played better.

I believe the conductor should talk, generally, in a style that matched the piece. If it’s a fast piece, talk
fast. If it has a lot of staccato, talk that way; but if it’s mellow, you should imitate that feeling. What you
are trying to do is to set up an atmosphere that is right for a particular composition. Of course, you also
have to avoid monotony; so if a work is almost entirely loud and fast, you’ll probably want to
occasionally talk in a different style.

Sensitizing people to motion is like teaching them another language, so you might rehearse with a certain
gesture being the object of a sentence. Instead of saying, “Trumpets, this should be more staccato,” try
this: “Trumpets, this should be more…and then use a staccato gesture instead of the word. In this way,
you can sensitize the players (and yourself) to specific motions, because they will see them clearly (not
having to play an instrument at the same time), and recognize them later in a musical context. Words go
into the objective side of the brain, and gestures go into the subjective (aesthetic) side, so gestures will
speak louder than words.

Singing in the band rehearsal—both by the players and the conductor (style examples)—is a tremendous
asset. It brings out all those qualities we want in an ensemble. Everything gets better through singing,
unless your singing keeps you from hearing what they are playing.

With a piece such as Irish Tune from County Derry or Elsa’s Procession to the Cathedral, there is an
emotional momentum which makes it difficult to stop and rehearse as objectively as needed. You may
decide it is best, psychologically, to start rehearsing from #9 to the end, and then 8-9, then 7-8; in other
words, to rehearse it “backwards” so you don’t allow the momentum to get started. That way you and
they can deal with the piece more objectively.

I like to get off the podium and walk through the group. If you want to get the trumpets to play better,
walk right back and say, “OK, trumpets, let’s hear this at letter C.” When you move into their space they
begin to think, “Whoa, what is this all about?” The same idea works with percussion, tubas, and anybody
else—particularly in the back. Very often I’m all around the room during a rehearsal. I have not always
been so mobile, because I used to think that the podium was “my perch” (everybody has a spot and this in
mine). Later I found that this is not true, and that moving during rehearsals attracts the attention of the
players and dramatizes the experience, which increases retention.

I often change the energy level, particularly during a long rehearsal. If something is not going as well as I
had hoped, and needs a sharper focus, I add more energy. Nearly always that works.

DOG TRAINING
Professional dog trainers tell us (1) never give a command unless you expect it to be followed, (2) give it
only once, and (3) be prepared to insist it be executed. Maybe the conductor/teacher should follow these
rules.

How many times do we say, “I’ve told you this a thousand times, why can’t you remember?” Maybe the
students become immune to our verbal or visual communication. You can bet that players who see
repetitive motions will stop looking at us (monotony is probably the conductor’s biggest enemy). Also,
some conductors get in their own way—using such big motions and so much space for things that don’t
matter that the players can’t tell when an important gesture comes along. If we have nothing to say we
shouldn’t talk (visually) all the time; that way the real message will be clear because it is surrounded by
spatial silence.

ISOLATE AND SOLVE THE PROBLEM

Many people pretend to rehearse. They’ll stop and say, “That’s not good enough. We have to try harder.
Now concentrate.” Then they’ll start again.

In a real rehearsal, players are given concrete suggestions on how to improve things right now:
“Trumpets, a little less tongue;” “horns need to match the F# with the saxophones at that point.”

A kind of “searchlight” style (focusing on small groups of players) is more effective than using too broad
an approach. People will play better if they know you are listening to them; even though you may be
rehearsing the cymbals, the tubas know you will get around to them eventually.

We’ve all faced this problem. You know what you want, and you know what’s coming out is not what
you want; but you’re not sure of what’s wrong with it. When that happens, try to peel away everything
you know is right: “Let’s hear this again without the flutes and clarinets.” (You know they’re OK; it’s
something down lower.) Well, it’s not the trumpets either, so you say, “Let’s hear it again without the
flutes and clarinets and trumpets.” Gradually you work through the band—“Let’s hear the trombones and
euphoniums,” (You’ve already determined it’s not in the tubas). Finally, you find it in the 2nd trombone.
Ideally, it would be best to say, immediately, “2nd trombone, that should be E natural and not Eb;” but
very few people can do that consistently, so isolation—paring away—is an effective principle to follow.

If you isolate, very often you find that some problems are solved best without the instruments—having
players clap the rhythm, or having some play while others clap. It keeps everybody involved while
you’re accomplishing what needs to be done.

RELEASE THE PRESSURE

Humor is an important aspect of every rehearsal. I look for time to get off the podium and break the
mood—comment about somebody’s loud sweater, their trip to Florida for Spring break, purchase of a
new instrument, or whatever. I try to break the monotony with humor, but not ridicule…unless I’m
ridiculing myself. When the concentration has been so intense that you can’t go any further, you have to
exhale and inhale for a while—it’s like taking a break in the middle of a long work day.

To have a more positive rehearsal (even though you’re making intense suggestions to the players), you
might try not including the first thing you’re thinking, which is usually negative. It happens because we
have this strong inner aural image of the music and along comes something that doesn’t fit, so we blurt
out, “No, trumpets, that’s not right, you’re destroying the delicate style here!” We should not eliminate
the negative thought from our mind (that’s why we stopped), but skip on over it to a positive statement.
“Trumpets, the music calls for less tongue at this point” is a more effective way to solve the problem.

ENDING THE REHEARSAL

Be sure the rehearsal ends the way you want it to, never as a surprise, when the bell catches you in the
middle of working with the 3rd clarinets.

In most cases, a work session should end with something pleasant, a piece the players like, because most
groups do not have as high a self-image as you would like. But with a group that is feeling a little over-
confident or cocky, you might want to play something that is not going right, so they think, “We’re going
to have to really work on this before the next rehearsal!”

If you intend to end with a complete run-through of a piece, that’s fine; but don’t work it all the through
and then say, “OK, now let’s try it again from the beginning.” Once a group invests the momentum that
carries them to the end, psychologically they’re finished with the piece; your going back to do it again
will be very dull for them, and thus won’t accomplish much. Strangely enough, getting almost to the end,
or doing short sections moving “backwards” does not have the same effect.

The right conclusion to the rehearsal can be almost anything—a culmination of the project for the day,
returning to an older piece they all know and love—but be sure you sculpt it into the process.

4—Build Player Independence

It’s really the players who will make the ultimate music, not the conductor. In fact, I agree with James
Dapogny (theory professor at the University of Michigan) who told me, “Our purpose here is to make
ourselves dispensable as teachers.”

We should be beginning the process of helping students become independent musicians at the elementary
level and then carry it right on through. We know that in the really wonderful groups in this world, much
of the work is done by the players listening to each other. However, in most bands, the players feel a
need to play to the conductor, who controls every aspect, often with an “iron hand.” We conductors are
certainly essential—guiding the rehearsals and directing the interpretation—but the ultimate precision,
pitch, and so many of these kinds of things are really achieved by the players.

The best conductors are not seeking puppets who perform only when their strings are pulled; they are
looking for collaborators.
COLLABORATION
Musicians play much better when they want to play well. Today’s most effective conductors consider the
players to be collaborators…and they treat them that way. The ideal communication between podium and
player has now become a conversation between equals.

In this conversation, you want to be reacting to what the players are doing, not just telling them how to do
it. What you are trying to do is to transfer concepts from yourself to the players, passing more and more
energy to them. Because we are seeking 100% energy to make the piece “go,” if a player is putting out
only 10%, we’ll provide the other 90%. However, what we want is for the players to contribute 90%, so
we need invest only 10% and can devote the rest of our energy to perception—really being alive with our
ears!

Sometimes the conversation becomes a kind of unspoken game called “Come to Me.” The player may
first want very specific directions from the conductor—dynamics, style, whatever it takes to keep from
having to think about those things very much; but the conductor should be trying to pull the player closer,
making the relationship more intimate by using less complete directions and always being sure there is a
response. The communication link will get stronger and stronger as the two are able to converse in more
subtle ways, like good friends. (Ever notice how too-obvious statements tend to push away a close
friend?) It is in those small details, in in-depth feelings, the things words cannot quite explain that we are
trying to communicate; and none of this is done by visual shouting. In fact, most of the really important
things in life are done rather softly.

Very often, we’ll stop, rehearse (visually or verbally), and when it’s right, just go on; but the players want
to know that it’s right…and usually not just by a nod or a smile (although that’s fine for close friends.)
When we actually tell them, others pick up on the praise and want to enjoy a similar reward, so we have
to confirm their playing regularly by saying, “Yes, that’s it.” Of course, to be able to do that we must
have a strong internal aural image of the music.

5—Continue to Grow
Throughout our lives as conductors we should be trying to gain greater musical depth and understanding.
Musical compositions have a certain depth. For example, Irish Tune from County Derry, Trauersinfonie,
and the Holst First Suite in Eb can all be interpreted in a superficial way and they will sound like pleasant
pieces; however, a conductor with great musical depth will be able to pull out each work’s considerable
potential for inner musical communication. It all depends on matching—when the conductor is able to
reach the level of the composition.

Because so much of today’s band music is shallow, almost anybody can interpret many pieces to their
maximum level of musical communication; but it is the deeper musical experiences we are trying to help
our students to understand, so we have to take ourselves to increasingly deeper levels. Otherwise we are
constantly giving these superficial treatments, even to those pieces with admirable musical depth.

Growth can come from going to concerts, reading, listening to records, and surrounding your self with
real music. It’s amazing how the late Beethoven string quartets can help the interpretation of Grainger,
because you have become a deeper musician. I believe every band director should set up some sort of
program to buy recordings, and be collecting personal scores, not just using those owned by the school.
You need your own scores, with your own marks (most band conductors do not stay in the same job
forever.) I’m just now getting my scores organized, and have discovered over 1,200 (I thought I had only
300-400!), and that’s not the end of it. I’m always buying scores.

I also believe band conductors should be involved in the field of music—serious music—not just in a
special interest are. We all know the names of composers/arrangers who have produced music of
questionable quality for bands; but do we know the names of John Harbison, George Perle, Bernard
Rands, and William Bolcom? They are all major composers and Pulitzer Prize winners.

Music is our profession, and we cannot be considered knowledgeable unless we really know the subject.
Read the New York Times every Sunday and find our what’s going on in what is now THE cultural center
of the world. Guest orchestras come to New York City regularly, and we should know what they are
playing. There have been entire concerts devoted to the music of Alfred Schnittke. Who is he, and what
kind of music does he write? We should know. Carnegie Hall celebrated its 100th Anniversary with
commissioned works (who? what? when?)

Constant inquisitiveness about our profession and the musical life is such an important part of growth.
Don’t be saddled with what you are using today in your rehearsal; always try to make your essence of
substance larger and deeper all the time.

And remember to develop interests in many subjects (Bruno Walter: “A musician who is only a musician
is half a musician.”)

INFORMED INTUITION
Even though we have what we cal an “intuitive” idea of how music should be played, we have informed
that intuition through many musical experiences. We’ve spent much of our lives learning about marches,
contemporary music, bi-tonality, Dorian mode—everything that makes music music. If another wind
piece by Mozart were discovered, we would probably have a very strong idea of how to interpret it,
because we have already had so much experience with Mozart’s other music.

Through score study we analyze the work, discovering its overall organization, broad sweeps, exquisite
details, high peaks of musical experience; and then we pre-plan our approach to rehearsal and
performance. But in our day-to-day decisions of the moment—how much weight on this note? What
articulation? How loud?—we use our informed intuition. (You may call it musicianship, musicality, or
whatever you want.) We’re spontaneous at that point; but it isn’t just “gut instinct,” it’s an ingrained
reaction that has grown in us as a result of many years of deepening musical experiences.

So I urge everyone in the band conducting profession to have as many high-quality musical experiences
as possible—listening, performing, any connection with music—because we draw on them as we teach.
Without this informed intuition, the music we bring to other people is pretty shallow stuff.

SELF-ANALYSIS
I believe you should tape your rehearsals frequently, which is sure to do at least one thing—let you know
how much you are talking! (So many people falsely believe that rehearsing is stopping and talking.) We
do want to communicate all the time, but the sound is usually too loud for us to talk as they play.
Fortunately we have this visual language called “conducting”…and we need to learn to peak it more
fluently.

We must be much more than musical accountants. We’re not trying to keep track of things, cleaning
them up by using an eraser here and there. We are actually re-creating an aesthetic experience, which
could change not only from conductor to conductor and player to player, but throughout a conductor’s
career, even from day to day. When on tour, I’ve often conducted the same piece every night; and each
time it’s been somewhat different, because I’m different (we all are—it’s that unique “inner feeling.”)
Each time, we try to be true to the composer; but it’s not just an academic, intellectual truth we seek. We
want to go beyond that into an intuitive truth.

In the final analysis, our rehearsals and concerts should appear to be (and in a sense are) spontaneous, but
they must have an underlying plan. Still, what we do not want is a “drilled” performance, when the ritard
two measures before C happens with the same crescendo, the same slowing, the same hesitation—that’s
death to music! There is a crescendo two measures before C every time; but somehow it’s a little more
intense this time, a little bit deeper, a little darker. There has to be spontaneous inner action between the
players and the conductor and the audience to bring things alive. Let’s not use the rehearsal to “drill” the
performance.

EXPAND AND LIVE!

If music is not an absolutely complete, emotional aesthetic experience, it comes awfully close, spanning
the spectrum from fragile and delicate t grotesque and fearsome. As musicians, we each fall somewhere
along that line, with a basic nature that may be quiet and sensitive or burly and brusque. Some are macho
while others are delicate; and we tend to work with music that is most like us (it’s comfortable that way).
However, our job is to be able to interpret the complete span of musical expression, so if we are basically
burly/rough/macho, we’ll need to expand our personality, so that hen we do the most delicate music we
ARE that music. If our nature is shy/sensitive/delicate and we are asked to do Music for Prague 1968 or
other forceful music, we have to become the force, not remain a shy person doing forceful music.

Because most of us are somewhere in the middle, we need to stretch ourselves in both directions, to the
outer extremes. We should not reduce the spectrum so it covers only our own current (narrow?) comfort
zone.

“Growth and Development” is one of the major issues that separates the mediocre conductors from the
most excellent ones. If you find yourself too busy to study scores, too busy to read the NY Times, too
busy to go to extra concerts, you need to delegate some of your responsibility. If other people can be
doing the chores, let them. There are too many things that only the conductor can do—choose the music,
study the scores, be responsible for the rehearsals. Other people can set up chairs/stands, file music, send
notices to the newspaper, and all the rest. Involve more people in your program. They’ll like it, the
program will be more viable, and you’ll be spending your time doing more of the things you want to do.

It’s embarrassing for me to be one of the few full-time working band conductors nearing the age of 60.
Why is our profession like this? Why are we burning ourselves out so fast? I think it’s mainly because
we are spending too much energy doing things that are of little value to us—so let’s delegate…before it’s
too late!

Finally, I know a number of conductors who feel that contemporary music is not for them. They still live
only in a world of overtures, waltzes and marches. I believe history is important, and I love to do
overtures, waltzes and marches; but I try not to limit myself to the past. As the old saying goes. “You’re
either busy growing, or you’re busy dying.” In the later years of my life, I don’t want to become the
subject of an all-too familiar conversation:

“How long does he have?”

“I don’t know. He sure didn’t keep up, did he?”

I would much rather follow Isaac Stern’s philosophy: “I want to die very young, but delay it as long as
possible.”

_______________________

H. ROBERT REYNOLDS is a recognized leader in the band conducting profession. He has been at the
University of Michigan (his alma mater) since 1975, following positions at the University of Wisconsin
(1968-75), California State at Long Beach, Onsted (MI) Community Schools (grades 5-12), and Anaheim
(CA) High School. He conducted concerts of the University of Michigan Symphony Band and the
Detroit Chamber Winds at the CBDNA National Convention at Ohio State University of February 25-26,
1993.

For additional musical and educational insight, see his article, “Some Things I Believe” in BAND
magazine, Nov-Dec 1984. Other biographical material appears in BDGuide (Sept-Oct 1991) as part of
the series, “Great Conductors of the Band.”

BDG MARCH/APRIL 1993