Clap Your Hands, Shuffle Your Feet

I took in a notable performance last night.

First, it was at a bar.
Second, it was a composition by Hindemith.
Third, it was for double bass and clarinet.
Fourth, it was fantastic.

I have a suspicion these elements do not often convene.

As I understand it, Hindemith wrote the piece for either him and his wife or someone and his wife (at that moment the Spanish didn't get through) who had taken up the clarinet and the bass, respectively, as secondary instruments. The music has absolutely no markings in it, just notes. And it's intended to be played at vacation-time.

I was impressed with the freedom with which the performers played. They were very present, they were having fun. Taking risks and playing the music for the first time and the last time. Not surprisingly, they brought the audience right along with them. Laughter, quiet, and applause.

Or not.

The work consisted of five or six movements. After some of the movements, the audience clapped, after some of them, they didn't. After one of the movements, half the audience clapped.

I liked that. It seemed that people clapped when it felt right, when they wanted to clap, and didn't when they would rather just have that last note linger a bit longer. As the performers exhibited and expressed their freedom, they allowed the audience to do the same.

So what's the deal with clapping?

I won't deny that when an audience claps after the first movement of a symphony a wash of judgement flows through me. But then, I think, on the other hand, why the hell not? I remember reading an article by an "uneducated' classical music enthusiast about his experience of a performance of Beethoven's 3rd Symphony. A talented writer, he described the symphony vividly, coupling the path of the music with his personal experience of listening. He took you along for the ride and then, when it was all over (just the first movement), you were convinced you yourself would have applauded, as he did in the concert hall, only to receive a bunch of shhhs! and awkward looks.

The guy has a pretty good point- if you aren't naturally moved to applaud at the end of the first movement of the Eroica Symphony, there's something wrong with you or the orchestra that's playing it. (But, then again, what's so natural about clapping anyway? More often than not, when I'm participating in applause, I end up thinking about what a strange ritual it is and wonder what other life forms would think of us...)

The performance was great- rambunctious and humorous and touching and soothing and silly and solid. Afterwards a bunch of the musicians in the audience were talking about pieces we could play in this space- a cafe/bar owned by one of the cellists in the orchestra. It seems that Tuesday nights are a sort of open mike night to often include instrumentalists and their classical music. I'm still figuring this whole Guanajuato-thing out but it also seems that this sort of event is pretty standard (so how cool is that?)

I left at 1 am with some new friends, a lot of inspiration, and two plans for pieces to perform soon!

So what's the deal with feet-shuffling?

All of you musicians know what I'm talking about- the customary way to show your approval or admiration or whatever while you are sitting in the ensemble with someone. Sometimes it means shuffle so the sshhhsshhh sound carries to the ears of the intended recipient, but now it's turned into tapping the knee, bouncing the knee, sticking out the leg, sticking out both legs, waving a toe, who knows.

Now, those of you that have ever played with me know I was a big foot shuffler. Kind of cheerleader like. I like to be positive, I like to tell people I like how they play. But I'm telling you, I'm giving it up. It's just getting out of hand. I can't keep up. The more I play the more I hear more playing that I like. If I wiggled a toe for every time I heard something I liked in this orchestra I wouldn't be able to focus enough to play my own part.

And then, there's the foot-shuffle dilemmas.

Dilemma #1: Principal horn plays great solo at the first rehearsal. You give them a kick in the air. Conductor stops and goes back a ways, causing horn solo to repeat. Principal horn player plays great again. Do you have to do the kick again? Will they take it the wrong way if you don't?

Dilemma #2: You went for a really long run the night before and your quads are in significant pain- you just can't quite get the foot up there. Does this warrant an explanation to your section? "I still think you play great, it's just that..." Once you do the kick, are you expected to do it every day? What's the etiquette for kick follow-through?

Dilemma #3: Now you're in the performance. Should you do the kick in performance? Only in performance? Never in performance? Will it be a good way to say "way to go" before you get to the end or will it be a distraction? Will anyone in the audience wonder why the horn section looks like wanna-be can-can dancers?

Dilemma #4: Guy sitting next to you nails particularly hard lick. Out goes the foot. Next day, guy sitting next to you bombs particularly hard lick. What then? Foot stays in- you seem a little critical. Foot goes out- fake. What's the foot signal for- "you're great, don't sweat it, it'll be fine at the show"?

The point is, I'm giving it up. SW, clarinetist of the Lyric Opera of Chicago, and on faculty at this which I attended this summer, talked about this. I liked what she said, basically, that she appreciates someone taking a few seconds to go up to her and commend her much more than any sort of foot-shenanigans. I agree, and it wouldn't hurt us to have another pretext for live interaction.

So I'm officially changing a few habits (take this as a harbinger of my next post...hint hint, can you guess?!?!).

Clap your heart out. Or don't. But don't expect to see me moving my feet.