batons

In the public consciousness, a baton is part of the definition of a conductor, along with crazy grey hair, white tie and tails, and wild arm flailing.  A description of a performance might say that an ensemble played "under the baton of so-and-so."  In reality, some conductors use batons, some don't, some do both.  Certain pieces, or movements of pieces, may call for a baton and others for hands.  In case you can't imagine conducting without a baton, here's me in a short clip I created for the "Thoughtful Gesture" paper presentation on campus (which is the reason for the odd annotations).




It seems to me that longer batons were standard about fifty years ago, as used by this satirical jerk who flails, but you don't see these crazy long batons much any more.  This one seems to be about twenty-four unnecessary inches long.



I have been a non-baton person for most of my career, but recently I've taken it up again and I must say I prefer it.  The major benefit for me is that it creates an additional hinge, requiring less work for my shoulder.  I object to the potential phallic power symbolism of a baton, but the ease and flexibility it offers is really quite nice.  For example, it allows me more possibilities in subdividing beats because tiny gestures can be perfectly clear at the tip of a long, slender baton, when they might be more difficult to see in my short, soft hands.

I should talk about subdivision some day.

The baton I use most is a small, twelve-inch natural wood one.  It's an unusual baton.  Most batons are white--convenient because they show up in a dark performance space.  I have a sixteen inch white baton that I used back when I was conducting musical theater more often.  But for my usual gig on a well-lit stage, I like the near flesh color of the wood.  It seems more organic, less stick-ish.  It's also shorter than average: fourteen inches is closer to average, and sixteen is common.  When my conductor friend Matt rolled his eyes at my twelve-incher, I said, "What?!  It's cute!"  He said "sure, for you, but I'd look downright silly holding that."  He's right.  He's six-foot-five, and proportion matters.

I should talk about proportion some day.

Back to some baton basic facts: wood is the most common baton material, though it's often painted white.  Most baton handles are wood, though you can get them in a lightweight metal from some companies, and others make a cork handle, which is also good for preventing oxidation in that bottle of wine you didn't finish.  A good quality, expensive baton will be balanced like a knife, where the handle weighs about the same as the blade (shaft), so that you don't feel the weight of it in your hand.  It won't warp quickly, though eventually it will probably develop a curve that's weird and distracting and you'll have to replace it.  So some batons are fiberglass.

So, should a conductor use a baton?

Maybe.

Last week, I attended the performance of the University of Connecticut Symphony Orchestra, directed by Dr. Jeffrey Renshaw.  About a hundred measures from the end of the final movement of the Chaikovsky Fifth Symphony, the tip of Dr. Renshaw's baton caught in the binding of his score, sending the baton end over end onto the floor in front of the second violins.  He shook his head to himself (probably the only people in the audience who noticed this were the other conductors) and finished the piece with his hands.

My musicologist friend Heather came to my office to read me Arturo's Baton, a children's book in which the brilliant conductor Arturo loses his baton and doesn't know what to do.  (SPOILER ALERT!)  Somehow, it doesn't even occur to him until the last three pages that the baton isn't the conductor, he is, and that he'll do fine without it.  Which he does.  Then he finds the baton in his sock drawer or something.

Should a conductor use a baton?  Yes.  Except when he shouldn't.  Or doesn't want to.  Or loses it.  Or flings it across the stage by accident.

The point is, the baton doesn't matter.  But it's a nice option.