The Very Open Rehearsal
[From Eric Booth's 2009 book The Music Teaching Artist’s Bible, Oxford University Press]
Interactive performances succeed to the degree that teaching artistry moves onto the stage and into concert traditions. And probably the boldest kind of interactive performance is the Very Open Rehearsal. Take a deep breath…you can do this.
“A regular live performance of classical music is powerful. A workshop exploration or a lesson about a piece of music can be powerful, too. But putting them together in this way makes it so alive for the listener. They join the extravagance of the musical experience. There is just nothing like having the real thing right there to experience together and have everyone dig into together.” Those are the words of violinist Denise Dillenbeck, describing her experience of leading Very Open Rehearsals (VOR) as part of an ensemble, and even all on her own.
We all know what an open rehearsal is: an audience is allowed to watch a rehearsal in progress, which is a way of inviting fortunate individuals to witness the workings of music making. As an educational opportunity, the open rehearsal has one great strength—immediate access to some of the authentic inner workings of music-making. The weakness is that most people can’t tap very deeply into the experience. Sometimes attendees can’t even hear what is said onstage—a few brave orchestras are putting a microphone on the conductor. Often, the uninitiated miss the details that give life to the process, or they simply don’t grasp what the heck is going on. An open rehearsal may even disappoint those with some musical background because it may or may not explore areas of particular interest or relevance to them. Usually handled by administration and orchestra with a combination of indifference and caution, the standard open rehearsal squanders its rich possibilities. (I am forever urging orchestras to make the first rehearsal of a week the open rehearsal, so the average audience member can see the mistakes, the revisions and immediate improvements, even tensions and disagreements—the real stuff of this complex art—rather than the third rehearsal, which is usually little more than a run-through. Alas, none has been bold enough yet to take up my challenge.)
A Very Open Rehearsal is neither casual nor cautious; it is bold. As we saw in the last chapter, there are many types of interactive concerts, in which the range of interactivity can swing from the minimal—audiences are asked to clap or answer questions—all the way to Bobby McFerrin’s getting the audience to sing all the parts of Bolero or Yo-Yo Ma’s having the audience sing “Dona Nobis Pacem” as he plays to their accompaniment. Interactive concerts are not just for orchestras; they are becoming much more popular as successful ensembles increasingly perform in clubs, in community venues, in salons and private homes.
The VOR is probably the most interactive extreme of interactive concerts—anything more would have to be a BYOI concert, bring your own instrument. I have a hunch the VOR may become the most widely adopted kind of interactive concert—because it is so fundamentally simple and works so powerfully, sometimes almost magically. As far as I know, the concept was pioneered by Thomas Cabaniss when he was the New York Philharmonic’s director of education, but I am sure imaginative ensembles and musicians have created events like it over the years. At the Phil, Tom had the enviable opportunity to experiment with his programs, and he was particularly interested in exploring how to engage high school students more actively in classical music. In 2003 he enlisted the support of a wind ensemble (made up of tenured musicians in the orchestra) to try out a new kind of education event for the Philharmonic’s high school program. At the first of the three scheduled VORs, he recalls, both players and audience were nervous. (“These students are actually going to stop us and ask up questions?” “Are we really supposed to stop them playing by raising our hands?”) Tom was the facilitator, and he encouraged everyone to give it a shot. He noticed something that day that turned out to be typical of VORs—the participants were hesitant to break the ice with that first question, even typical high school students knew that was taboo. But after that first tentative question and interesting openhearted answer, the event took off.
In that first VOR, the students got interested in the issues of tempo—who controlled it, the difference between a metronome’s tempo and the performers’ impulses. It came out that one of the players had been pushing the tempo because he felt the piece should move faster. The ensemble had to work through the disagreement (which had surfaced because of questions from the audience), and came to a solution with feedback from the audience. The students were fascinated. They did interrupt, but appropriately; they did respond and ask for demonstrations of some points. Though surprised and delighted by the students’ insights, the musicians were not completely sold on VORs until their second outing—when they realized that nothing else they had tried could top the VOR at drawing a young audience inside the music.
Time has shown that the VOR works with audiences of all ages. I “borrowed” Tom’s idea with his permission and have used it widely since 2004. When I am given free rein to shape an event, I usually seat the audience in a complete circle (with aisles), with the musicians facing one another in the center. Certainly VORs can work with traditional “theater” seating, but the circular arrangement reduces the expectations of “performance,” eases the hesitancy to interrupt, and unsettles the musicians in a healthy way. Getting the audience pulled in as close as possible to the musicians is a help—the proximity boosts the intimacy, even with more than a hundred people present. If it feels a little crowded, that is probably just about right. A VOR is not event for large numbers in the audience; it is essentially a personal, intimate exchange, so I try to limit audience size to under one hundred, although I have survived slightly larger gatherings.
In events I organize, I usually use a facilitator (myself or someone who is good with groups) to manage the event. This host kicks things off, calls on the people with hands raised, interrupts the questioning when it has gone on too long (to make sure the ensemble gets enough rehearsal time to accomplish what they need to get done) and prevents anyone from hogging the conversation or grandstanding. The facilitator also asks direct questions of all the musicians (to make sure the less verbal ones are heard from), rephrases questions that are stated unclearly, and sometimes asks a follow-up question when he or she intuits a juicy musical issue under the surface. The facilitator sets the tone (which should be playful but seriously curious) and rhythm of questions/answers/playing (which should be lively but have variety within it). With a mixed-age audience, the facilitator encourages the (usually more reticent) younger people to ask questions, and calls on them often. When I led a VOR at the University of Michigan recently, a music department ensemble was working on a movement in a Hindemith woodwind quintet, and the six preteens in the audience asked the best questions of the night.
Some ensembles lead their own VORs with no facilitator. Often the musicians ask the audience to listen to a passage two ways and give them some feedback; the players describe (and disagree about) their feelings or thoughts about different sections. Some bold musicians, like Denise Dillenbeck, have dared to fly solo—rehearsing and handling the question-and-answer parts as well.
Audiences ask all kinds of questions; you never know what is coming next: “Why did you just replay that section?” “I couldn’t tell why you guys felt the second time through was better—could you show me what was wrong and what you are trying to do?” In one VOR I led, a string quartet from the Chicago Civic Orchestra was working on a movement from a Shostakovich work, and the audience included both sophisticated listeners and first-time hearers of chamber music. Back-to-back questions were: “I have heard that last phrase in over twenty different recordings, and I can’t understand its intent—what do you make of it?” and “Why do violin players all have hickeys on their necks?” The openness of the players in answering both questions, from opposite ends of the sophistication continuum, lessened the audience’s inhibitions about asking things they’d always wondered. It also united the crowd and had them following every nuance of the rehearsal. A VOR is profoundly inclusive; and for an artform that has the reputation of being elitist, this is radically important.
I usually urge the musicians to think of the following when choosing the music for a VOR:
1) Select something that you really do need to rehearse it (this is essential—don’t fake it);
2) Keep the rehearsed segment short (say, 6 minutes maximum for an 80-minute event; a single movement is fine);
3) Try to pick something that it is not entirely familiar to the audience. (A genuine rehearsal of a classic can work, but the event is weaker if your group doesn’t really need to rehearse and is just polishing). When the Chiara Quartet presented a VOR for 60 graduate students from top conservatories at a conference, they made a brave musical choice: part of the second movement of Jefferson Friedman’s Third String Quartet, a work they were scheduled to record one week later. What’s more, they had largely refrained from rehearsing the movement they used in the VOR so that there would be authentic pressure to solve complex problems with a lot at stake. This made for a thrilling VOR that revealed how decisions get made in an ensemble, as well as the deep implications—musical, personal and professional—of the choices and decision-making processes;
4) Even if it is just part of one movement, the selection should stand alone theatrically, with a satisfying beginning, middle, and end.
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A typical VOR format would include the following (please feel free to design your VOR entirely differently—this is the most basic skeleton, and other formats could would equally well or better for you):
1) The host takes a couple of minutes (not too much talking at the top) at the top to introduce the event, along with the basic ground rules about raising hands, interrupting, making sure the players get enough rehearsal time, seeing if people have questions, etc. The host also sets the tone and expectations—casual and fun. Include some laughs, a few words from the individual musicians (you can include introductions of musicians here, but I put usually put them off, to avoid too much talk before music);
2) The performers will often play a run-through of the music, or part of it, to orient everyone;
3) The performers may discuss among themselves what they noticed in the run-through—what they need to work on, and disagreements about interpretation or priorities and how they should organize the process. (I often ask for really short self-introductions at this point, or I’ll ask each to say their name as they answer the same question, such as, “What is one thing about this piece that challenges you?” or “What’s one thing you personally want to accomplish in this rehearsal?”;
4) The musicians begin to rehearse in earnest, and the audience begins interrupting at some point. (I admit I have been known to plant a first question with a friend or colleague, and look at that person to raise her hand if the crowd feels scared to break the ice. On difficult occasions, I have asked the first question myself as facilitator if the crowd feels scared to break the taboo.);
5) The rehearsal continues, with frequent interruptions (these may be short, or up to five minutes even, but they shouldn’t delay the ensemble for too long from digging back into the music); the event may run for 70–100 minutes (VORs for school groups tend to run toward the shorter side);
6) The event culminates with a performance of the whole segment. The players and audience members may offer some closing comments about what they enjoyed or learned. Typically, the VOR audience becomes so invested in myriad details of the music that the brief final performance has a disproportionately large impact on them; I have seen audiences jump to their feet to cheer a five-minute piece. Once, after the Chicago Civic Orchestra’s string quartet performed the Shostakovich movement, an audience member told me he had found more satisfaction in those six minutes than in any full symphony he had ever heard. Score one for chamber music.
I asked Denise Dillenbeck for her advice for musicians who have the urge to try their hand at being both performer and facilitator. Denise focused on several VORs she led that explored Suite Italienne, the violin-and-piano reduction of Pulcinella that Stravinsky himself arranged.
When Denise was the lead teaching artist of the Philadelphia Orchestra’s Education Department, she gave a VOR workshop for teachers who were preparing to bring their students to a performance of Pulcinella. This predetermined focus with a shared educational goal, along with the teachers’ eagerness to dig into the parts that Denise and the pianist rehearsed, made the VOR particularly effective. When she conducted a similar event for the general public, she encountered a bit more caution and uncertainty in the audience before they got into it.
Denise recommends that in general-audience VORs, when you don’t have the benefit of a shared goal, the performers should have a clear purpose and entry point in mind for the occasion: “Know what you want to accomplish in the rehearsal, and know how this particular VOR can help you get there. And tell the audience about it; enroll them in the entry point and the goal.” Because audiences are usually hesitant to ask that first question; she recommends having a few key questions in mind that really interest you. If the audience seems shy, ask them yourself and get the audience involved in answering them.
“With Suite Italienne,” she says, “the Serenata movement has a place where the performers repeat one single motivic idea a whole bunch of times in a row, like a broken record. That repetition always bothered me, so it was an easy place to jump in with ‘Why the heck did Stravinsky write this? Why are we having to say the same thing so many times in a row? Should we try to make some kind of shape out of it, or let it stand on its own?’ That led very easily to ‘And what is the purpose of repetition in general in music? In conversation? In life?’”
“It was fascinating and hilarious to me that the audience had already picked up on my annoyance with this section even before I said anything about it—just from hearing me play it. Admitting my qualms about it allowed some laughter and then a very rich conversation that delved into the topic.” Taking up some of the audience’s suggestions, Denise played the section in various ways and asked the audience how they liked the different interpretations.
VORs work, says Denise, because participants are not passive watchers. “Audiences discover through you that what goes on inside a piece of music for a musician is a lot like what goes on in life in general—and they know about that. So they relate to the musician and the rehearsal process in a very active way. They get to experience from the inside why you love it so much. They are actively experiencing and noticing and thinking and questioning inside the piece. The energy in the room gets thrilling. It puts them on the spot—and they rise to it, it makes their listening much more active and honest and detailed.”
She admits she still gets nervous just before doing a solo VOR, but says she gets over it pretty quickly once she is into the exchange with the participants. When there is a facilitator with the performers, she says it is easier, but there’s a special excitement when there’s one less layer between her and the people around her.
“People are smart,” she says. “For me as an artist it is fun to have other people’s questions to consider and experiment around. They love it when they surprise me or give me a new idea. There is a lot of laughter and discovery in a good VOR. They get to feel what its like to have their hands on this clay; and I get pushed to try things I never would have thought of.”
A few other nuggets of advice from Denise to musicians who want to take on a VOR: “Bring your best, open, authentic learning self. Don’t be afraid to be imperfect, to let things fall apart. Don’t worry about making mistakes. Break the rules: walk around the space to be in different physical relationships with the audiences, ask questions of other players, ask the audience your genuine questions. Get out of your comfort zone. The more you try new things bravely and in the spirit of play, the more the audience will open up and try new things in their listening and entering the music.”
Denise also cautions musicians to listen really hard when people talk, to make sure you grasp what is really being asked. “If you don’t quite get it, ask for clarification. Try a lot of experiments, and use music as much as possible, rather than words, to try ideas out. Try not to talk too much—go to the music.”
It does take courage to dare the openness of a VOR, but I have seen the format succeed in every setting I have tried, from bastions of music traditionalism to art museums to hotel conference rooms. The Chiara Quartet did a whole series of them as part of a special grant during a University of Iowa residency. I have seen it work well with the most sophisticated audiences, with first time audiences and with mixed audiences. Violist Kelly Dylla has produced and facilitated several VORs and finds, “Ideally I like to work with players that have a sense of playfulness and curiosity about a layman’s point of view. Also, a certain level of musical maturity is desired so musicians can make the most the of participants’ suggestions. With that in mind, really the straightforward process makes it perfect for adapting it to different situations, involving super young players or amateur musicians.”
Just the other day, I got an email from violinist Amy Schroeder, whom I knew when she was a student at Juilliard, and who is now thriving with the Attacca Quartet. The group had just tried its first Very Open Rehearsal, as I had suggested to them, on their own. Here (with her permission) is the text of her unexpected and timely email:
Hi Eric!
I hope this message finds you well. Just wanted to tell you that I am with my quartet on Hilton Head Island, SC right now, and we are performing several concerts as well as doing a pretty good amount of outreach, as we did here last year. Do you remember telling us about the ‘very open rehearsal’ idea? Tonight we tried it! We had to do a play-and-teach session to a youth orchestra, their parents, and random adult members of the community . . . We first played a movement of a Beethoven quartet that we knew very well, so that they could just hear us play. Then we told them that we were going to play the exposition of another Beethoven quartet that was fairly new to us and that we would have a rehearsal on it. We told them that they were free to come up and look at our parts after we played it through and were actually working on it. We also said that they were free to ask questions about anything we were doing, or could ask us to try things at any point during the rehearsal. Also, when we came across a place where we couldn’t necessarily tell which of two ideas which sounded better, we asked the audience what they thought, and they always had an opinion. It was extremely successful, and everyone said how interesting it was, how much they learned and how fun it was. Plus... we got some feedback from a live audience!! Then we let the kids play, and we gave them tips, and they sounded much better when they played their piece again after working with us. All in all... YOUR IDEA ROCKS!! Amy