Don't Do This!

With an upcoming gig of smashing* (see below) cymbals together for a couple of performances of Orff's Carmina Burana, I am reminded of the time I was fired for doing such a thing. To be clear, it wasn't my musicianship that got me in to trouble but something much more hideous... my egregious attitude.


Here's the story:

(The ensemble, conductor, city, and time period in my life shall remain anonymous)

I'm killing it in the final rehearsal of a very gratifying concert run, playing enjoyable repertoire with a very good anonymous ensemble. We are reading everything down and I'm nailing my timbre choices with impeccable timing, tasteful balance and blend, and feeling, shall I say, utterly confident about my abilities, my career choice, and my art. There's nothing I'd rather do than play music, and the fact I was getting financially compensated meant I'm obviously a fully accredited professional. Life simply couldn't be better.

Then the moment which shall forever live in my mind, in the deepest, darkest recesses where pride and shame reside to do battle with one another for eternity. Okay, perhaps I'm slightly overstating the psychological effects of the incident, but here I am, an anonymous amount of time later recounting the incident with perfect mental clarity. I'd say the moment was quasi-defining. I'll leave it at that and get on with the story....

As the anonymous ensemble reaches a climactic moment in this anonymous composition, the typical anonymous composer from the typical anonymous time period wrote a dramatic cymbal crash at the pinnacle of the work. On this gig, it's my job to punctuate it with a dynamic cymbal crash, perfectly blended with the ensemble, timed to perfection, and with ridiculous, perhaps unfathomable amounts of tone color. In my hands are the perfect pair of cymbals for this very crash and in my soul are years of technique for this very refined instant.

I make it happen.

I look over at my anonymous colleagues in the percussion section and they nod with approval... perhaps even envy.

I selfishly look throughout the ensemble to see if anyone else was impressed by the artistry I just dropped on the rehearsal. Perhaps an eye from an anonymous violinist.

I smile to myself, let the drama sink in, and begin to plan my entire future playing more crashes in ensembles the entire world over. This is my gig. My calling.



Then for some inexplicable reason, the conductor stops the ensemble and says, "Mr. Cymbals, I need you to hold the cymbals up in the air after you hit them like this so everyone can see them."

Confusion sets in. A sense of panic. First of all, I kept my family name at birth and "Cymbals" isn't very Irish sounding. Then I think, is he really talking to me? Considering what just took place, the only words he should be uttering to me are "bravissimi" or "give the man a raise." What is going on? I immediately second-guess the sound I created and whether or not it was sufficient for "Mr. Baton's" taste. However, that's not consistent with his statement.

So I ask, "Is there a different sound you are looking for?"

He responds, "just hold the cymbals up in the air after you make the crash so we can see them."

I coldly reply, "I am certain the audience will see the cymbals just fine. If you want a different sound, tell me, but if you want me to look different, I'm not going to alter my technique."

A staring contest ensues....

He finally summons the response, "Do as I say."

I retort, "No."

Tension wafts throughout the ensemble, and then with the diplomacy of a U.N. Peacekeeper, the personnel manager announces our break.

My blood pressure is through the roof, but I held my ground. How dare this clueless conductor tell me how I should look when I play. Would he question how the clarinets sit? If he felt the urge, would he tell the bassists to use a German grip versus French? I don't think so. Me, 1, conductor, 0.

As I'm collecting my thoughts and wondering where the rest of the percussion section disappeared to, I see the personnel manager bee-lining in my direction.

We'll say the conversation was less than cordial.

To make an already long and painful story a few paragraphs shorter, I was allowed to play the two concerts and would never be rehired. Conductor, 1, Me, 0.

No, I didn't change how I played the crashes for the concert.

Would I change how I handled the situation?

Emphatically, YES. How arrogant I was. How humbled I quickly became.

Did the conductor handle himself well? Probably not. But it really doesn't matter.

We strike some sort of artistic or technical compromise all of the time.

The bottom line is to be mature, professional, and realistic. Play the gig, serve the music, and if the artistic and professional expectations are unreasonable, courteously bow out of the next opportunity.

There are countless ways this episode should have been addressed.

Simply put, don't do what I did!



*smashing with great artistry, finesse, and countless hours of practice and performance. However it's still just hitting two plates of metal together. At least it's not making flatulent sounds with your lips into plumbing (i.e. brass players).


Visit my website at www.jameswdoyle.com