I've mentioned before that I'm a Doctor Who fan. I also have a DVR, which means I never watch commercials. However, I usually skip through the commercials in 30-second chunks, allowing me to see moments of commercials here and there.
Well, while watching Doctor Who on DVR a short while back ("Fear Her"--a great episode!), I skipped through commercials only to land on a moment that said THE CHOIR. "What's that?" I asked the t.v., and then did something I never do. I rewound the DVR to see the commercial. It was just a ten-second teaser with some line like "What's your dream?" And I rolled my eyes and thought, "oh, great: another show about people getting told they can't sing."
Later in the episode, there was a "sneak preview" of The Choir, and it proved me absolutely wrong. It seems that the real premise is a choral musician, Gareth Malone, who goes around to "unlikely" communities and starts choirs! It shows him trying to recruit people, then being clever on the podium, then conducting performances. Apparently the goal is to get to the World Choir Games in China, which he refers to as the choral Olympics. I'm ambivalent about competing as performance, but I thought the rest of the premise seemed interesting enough to see how it works out.
So I intend to DVR it and check it out. If there's anything there, I hope to write about it.
It starts in one month, July 7, on BBC America, which usually means that it has already started airing on BBC proper, and so this isn't exactly breaking news. I'm behind my international colleagues and surely won't be the first the comment on it. So be it. In the meantime, here are some of the thoughts I'm having before we go into it.
Things I liked: On a personal note, I'm relieved to see Gareth is actually two years older than I am. It's just a little disheartening to see guys like Dudamel who are even younger yet more successful. Not that I'm ambitious, I just... you know... am susceptible to envy. I also liked that he was encouraging everyone to sing, accepting anyone who wanted to be a part of it. Also, he seems fearless in terms of engaging fully with his singers and the music, not self-conscious or overly concerned with appearing to be a good conductor over actually conducting well.
Things I'm worried about: I mentioned the competition thing. There's also the question I have about the British training of conductors. I've never been inside their system, so I can't comment on it with authority; but, I've had a little experience with a few conductors trained in England, particularly, which has been not good. I'm a little worried about the Bristish perspective of what a conductor's job is, and afraid that it will frustrate me that he doesn't do what I think he should do. But the clips they showed of him conducting looked okay, so we'll just have to wait and see.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Multiple Intelligence Monday 2: Visual-Spatial
Visual-spatial
Visual-spatial skills have been linked to sight-reading ability in orchestra musicians. Before I read this particular research, I already knew that my husband is an amazing sight-reader and he can pack more in the back of the Forrester than I could ever imagine possible. And after I read the research, I wondered if my really quite mediocre visual-spatial aptitude and really quite mediocre sight-reading skills are related.
We're thinking of buying an elliptical machine. Would it fit in the back of the car? I have no idea!
Clearly, the awareness of the page, and the ability to sort out what's on it, is an important ability for a conductor. I'm not so good at these as my husband, and my training is primarily choral, so I have a dickens of a time working with instrumental scores. Visually, the page is so big, there's so much on it, and it's spread out so far, that I just have to spend a lot of time before I'm able to wrap my ears around it.
And this brings me to the point I will make with all the multiple intelligence posts, and which I will also be making tomorrow: knowing one's weaknesses allows a conductor to compensate for them. And how do I compensate for my total lack of a knack for seeing the page?
Preparation.
I spend so much time with my score that I don't really even have to look at it to know what's on it. I know the music so well that the notes on the page are just reminders of the sound in my head rather than instanty instructions of what the sound should be--which is, I understand, how really good readers see music.
Preparation. More on it Thursday.
We're thinking of buying an elliptical machine. Would it fit in the back of the car? I have no idea!
Clearly, the awareness of the page, and the ability to sort out what's on it, is an important ability for a conductor. I'm not so good at these as my husband, and my training is primarily choral, so I have a dickens of a time working with instrumental scores. Visually, the page is so big, there's so much on it, and it's spread out so far, that I just have to spend a lot of time before I'm able to wrap my ears around it.
And this brings me to the point I will make with all the multiple intelligence posts, and which I will also be making tomorrow: knowing one's weaknesses allows a conductor to compensate for them. And how do I compensate for my total lack of a knack for seeing the page?
Preparation.
I spend so much time with my score that I don't really even have to look at it to know what's on it. I know the music so well that the notes on the page are just reminders of the sound in my head rather than instanty instructions of what the sound should be--which is, I understand, how really good readers see music.
Preparation. More on it Thursday.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
conducting journal
I taught the undergraduate choral conducting class at UConn last spring and it was a hoot. I assisted the basic and instrumental conducting classes under Dr. Renshaw, and I've taught conducting to high school students in a smaller way, so at least I wasn't going in absolutely cold. Still, I took two semesters of vocal pedagogy before I taught anyone singing; I got a degree in music education before they let me into a classroom to teach music. But conducting pedagogy is not a topic that is directly addressed very often. So I fell back on the thing that most teachers eventually do: how I was taught.
I have the benefit of not being a very good musician (musical intelligence will be addressed a couple of Mondays from now, followed shortly by Gordon and aptitude testing). When you're mediocre at something but love it, you work very hard to learn and get better, you try everything you can to improve. And that made me learn how to learn. In planning my syllabus for the undergrad course, I picked the things that helped me the most, and assigned those tasks to my students
In my master's program, we were loosely required to write a conducting journal. It was a suggestion, really, more than a requirement, but I'm a woman who follows instructions so I diligently kept a conducting journal. I also happen to be a woman who loves to write about things I love, so it was easy and pleasant for me.
When I was writing a conducting journal, I wrote about scores I was preparing, other conducting students, conducting class, lessons, conductors I performed under, teachers, performances, recordings, and even non-musical life experiences that related to conducting. Sort of like this blog now, though I also try to write about research and more big-picture sorts of things.
I assigned a conducting journal to my undergrads. It was worth five percent of their grade, graded on "thoroughness." Basically, the more they wrote about, and the more accurate information it contained, the higher the grade. Not a big deal, but it could make the difference between and B+ and an A-, you know? Those who wrote really thorough journals made the most improvements in the actual conducting. My whole point with the class was that conducting was about preparation, so the more preparation you did, the better you would conduct. A journal was really just a place to track and organize your preparation.
I find that I conduct better when I keep a journal, just like my students. I don't know how many other conductors use journaling as a tool for preparation. I love it, but of course, it does speak to some of my strongest learning styles: verbal and intrapersonal (as my sister puts it, "strong opinions and a big vocabulary"). One of the many projects for this summer is the preparation of scores for the fall. Among them is the Caesar Franck Mass in A, the source of the famous "Panis Anglicus."
Mmmhhh... Renee Fleming...
Anyway, I'm going to try posting at least some of the things that I'd ordinarily journal about in preparing a piece like that. There are a few reasons.
First, it will give me a chance to demonstrate specific examples and further explicate ideas that are relatively esoteric.
Second, this is the first multi-movement work I've prepared for a real performance, in its entirety, from scratch. Other pieces I've done as exercises in conducting lessons with no actual performing, performed only excerpts, or had already sung the piece and was therefore familiar with it to some degree. So I'm rather excited to be applying all that theoretical training to practical use and quite keen to do it right. I feel some responsibility to post true and accurate things on the blog, so perhaps having it out here will be even more incentive to do it well.
Third, posting online has the possibility of reaching other conductors who have performed the work and can let me know if they found the same things I did. That would be nice.
I have the benefit of not being a very good musician (musical intelligence will be addressed a couple of Mondays from now, followed shortly by Gordon and aptitude testing). When you're mediocre at something but love it, you work very hard to learn and get better, you try everything you can to improve. And that made me learn how to learn. In planning my syllabus for the undergrad course, I picked the things that helped me the most, and assigned those tasks to my students
In my master's program, we were loosely required to write a conducting journal. It was a suggestion, really, more than a requirement, but I'm a woman who follows instructions so I diligently kept a conducting journal. I also happen to be a woman who loves to write about things I love, so it was easy and pleasant for me.
When I was writing a conducting journal, I wrote about scores I was preparing, other conducting students, conducting class, lessons, conductors I performed under, teachers, performances, recordings, and even non-musical life experiences that related to conducting. Sort of like this blog now, though I also try to write about research and more big-picture sorts of things.
I assigned a conducting journal to my undergrads. It was worth five percent of their grade, graded on "thoroughness." Basically, the more they wrote about, and the more accurate information it contained, the higher the grade. Not a big deal, but it could make the difference between and B+ and an A-, you know? Those who wrote really thorough journals made the most improvements in the actual conducting. My whole point with the class was that conducting was about preparation, so the more preparation you did, the better you would conduct. A journal was really just a place to track and organize your preparation.
I find that I conduct better when I keep a journal, just like my students. I don't know how many other conductors use journaling as a tool for preparation. I love it, but of course, it does speak to some of my strongest learning styles: verbal and intrapersonal (as my sister puts it, "strong opinions and a big vocabulary"). One of the many projects for this summer is the preparation of scores for the fall. Among them is the Caesar Franck Mass in A, the source of the famous "Panis Anglicus."
Mmmhhh... Renee Fleming...
Anyway, I'm going to try posting at least some of the things that I'd ordinarily journal about in preparing a piece like that. There are a few reasons.
First, it will give me a chance to demonstrate specific examples and further explicate ideas that are relatively esoteric.
Second, this is the first multi-movement work I've prepared for a real performance, in its entirety, from scratch. Other pieces I've done as exercises in conducting lessons with no actual performing, performed only excerpts, or had already sung the piece and was therefore familiar with it to some degree. So I'm rather excited to be applying all that theoretical training to practical use and quite keen to do it right. I feel some responsibility to post true and accurate things on the blog, so perhaps having it out here will be even more incentive to do it well.
Third, posting online has the possibility of reaching other conductors who have performed the work and can let me know if they found the same things I did. That would be nice.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
goodbye again
I just saw the movie Goodbye Again. In it, Ingrid Bergman says "the problem with being an interior designer is everyone thinks they know your business."
I can relate.
I dated a man a long, long time ago who suggested I avoid talking about music in social situations because I tended to preach, not quite perceiving that the others involved in the conversation were just making small talk. Because music is a popular topic for small talk.
People just talk about music casually, discussing their own opinions and perceptions. They judge the contestants on American Idol based on their ideals and experiences. When I was teaching high school, I watched American Idol so I could help my students discuss it intelligently, to to help them identify the real sources of their judgments (more often they simply preferred what was familiar to what was high quality--which is perfectly natural, but one should acknowledge it) and also because if Randy could require good intonation, so could I.
My strategy for talking about music socially these days is less instructive. I've learned that no one actually cares about why head voice is important for even pop singers, or how excellent diction can create expressive texture. When a teenage relative asked if I had thoughts about his community theater production of Pajama Game, I said "of course I do; I'm a professional," then changed the subject. When the periodontist's assistant asked what I do and learned that I was a conductor, she asked me about Dudamel. I did not talk about how he belies the conductor archetype, but agreed wholeheartedly when she said he's cute.
It's weird to be a professional in something that most people do recreationally. That's why I blog about it, of course--because I love what I do and want to make my experience available to anyone who wants to know about it. And it's not so easy to drop these kinds of ideas on people at dinner parties.
I can't really complain. My sister has a PhD in health sciences, specializing in sexuality. She can NOT talk about her work at dinner parties, except among her colleagues.
Colleagues are what this post is really about. Recently, I had lunch with two band friends. One said, "we're getting a weird degree--I mean, it's basically a Doctorate in Arm Waving." The other agreed, "yeah, I can't believe they pay me to do this!" Yet, for all their recognition of our work as esoteric and surprising, their understanding of it makes for comfortable small talk. I love hearing from a wide variety of readers who post comments and e-mail me and write on my Facebook wall, but it really especially thrills me to hear from other conductors. Because I acknowledge that my perspective is not the only one, and I love learning more. Because this is what the internet is for: sharing information, especially where there are no right or wrong answers, just discussions to be had.
Ingrid Bergman didn't discuss interior decorating with anyone in Goodbye Again except to say, "I'm glad you like it" when receiving a compliment at a dinner party. Smart woman. I would totally have read her blog if she'd had one.
I can relate.
I dated a man a long, long time ago who suggested I avoid talking about music in social situations because I tended to preach, not quite perceiving that the others involved in the conversation were just making small talk. Because music is a popular topic for small talk.
People just talk about music casually, discussing their own opinions and perceptions. They judge the contestants on American Idol based on their ideals and experiences. When I was teaching high school, I watched American Idol so I could help my students discuss it intelligently, to to help them identify the real sources of their judgments (more often they simply preferred what was familiar to what was high quality--which is perfectly natural, but one should acknowledge it) and also because if Randy could require good intonation, so could I.
My strategy for talking about music socially these days is less instructive. I've learned that no one actually cares about why head voice is important for even pop singers, or how excellent diction can create expressive texture. When a teenage relative asked if I had thoughts about his community theater production of Pajama Game, I said "of course I do; I'm a professional," then changed the subject. When the periodontist's assistant asked what I do and learned that I was a conductor, she asked me about Dudamel. I did not talk about how he belies the conductor archetype, but agreed wholeheartedly when she said he's cute.
It's weird to be a professional in something that most people do recreationally. That's why I blog about it, of course--because I love what I do and want to make my experience available to anyone who wants to know about it. And it's not so easy to drop these kinds of ideas on people at dinner parties.
I can't really complain. My sister has a PhD in health sciences, specializing in sexuality. She can NOT talk about her work at dinner parties, except among her colleagues.
Colleagues are what this post is really about. Recently, I had lunch with two band friends. One said, "we're getting a weird degree--I mean, it's basically a Doctorate in Arm Waving." The other agreed, "yeah, I can't believe they pay me to do this!" Yet, for all their recognition of our work as esoteric and surprising, their understanding of it makes for comfortable small talk. I love hearing from a wide variety of readers who post comments and e-mail me and write on my Facebook wall, but it really especially thrills me to hear from other conductors. Because I acknowledge that my perspective is not the only one, and I love learning more. Because this is what the internet is for: sharing information, especially where there are no right or wrong answers, just discussions to be had.
Ingrid Bergman didn't discuss interior decorating with anyone in Goodbye Again except to say, "I'm glad you like it" when receiving a compliment at a dinner party. Smart woman. I would totally have read her blog if she'd had one.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Multiple Intelligence Monday 1: Introduction
I enjoy structure, so I'm creating a new format for summer: Multiple Intelligence Mondays! I tried writing a single post about multiple intelligences, and it got crazy long. So I need to break it up into weekly installments.
For now: an introduction as to why I would bother with such a thing.
Wikipedia can tell you the basics of multiple intelligence theory, in case you don't already know. It doesn't matter whether there are seven intelligences or a hundred, or if there's really just one, the point is we're all good at certain things, and most of us are lousy at other things.
I, for example, can't add, but I can pronounce the hell out of anything. It takes me multiple seconds to analyse a triad to figure out its quality--very slow!--but I can pick up a Tai Chi form after just a couple of times through. Are these the results of what I learned or failed to learn as a child, or was what I learned determined by my capacity to learn, my aptitude? I have no idea. It's complicated! I can't get into it, and I don't think I need to. The point is that certain skills, certain capacities are important for a conductor. I'll go through the seven intelligences I originally learned and use that as a starting place to explain. But why does it matter?
I learned about multiple intelligence theory when I was an undergrad getting a degree in music education. Knowing about multiple intelligences was supposed to make us better teachers: we could design lessons that address different intelligences, which correspond, so they say, to learning styles--which is really what this is about--the way you learn, the means through which things enter your brain most efficiently. For a conductor, there is such a wide array of skills and aptitudes that will help that, as I have said before, there are no stupid conductors. You just have to be pretty good at a lot of things in order to succeed on the podium. But knowing one's strengths and weaknesses allows each conductor to use what we do best and compensate for what eludes us.
Details to follow. Every Monday.
For now: an introduction as to why I would bother with such a thing.
Wikipedia can tell you the basics of multiple intelligence theory, in case you don't already know. It doesn't matter whether there are seven intelligences or a hundred, or if there's really just one, the point is we're all good at certain things, and most of us are lousy at other things.
I, for example, can't add, but I can pronounce the hell out of anything. It takes me multiple seconds to analyse a triad to figure out its quality--very slow!--but I can pick up a Tai Chi form after just a couple of times through. Are these the results of what I learned or failed to learn as a child, or was what I learned determined by my capacity to learn, my aptitude? I have no idea. It's complicated! I can't get into it, and I don't think I need to. The point is that certain skills, certain capacities are important for a conductor. I'll go through the seven intelligences I originally learned and use that as a starting place to explain. But why does it matter?
I learned about multiple intelligence theory when I was an undergrad getting a degree in music education. Knowing about multiple intelligences was supposed to make us better teachers: we could design lessons that address different intelligences, which correspond, so they say, to learning styles--which is really what this is about--the way you learn, the means through which things enter your brain most efficiently. For a conductor, there is such a wide array of skills and aptitudes that will help that, as I have said before, there are no stupid conductors. You just have to be pretty good at a lot of things in order to succeed on the podium. But knowing one's strengths and weaknesses allows each conductor to use what we do best and compensate for what eludes us.
Details to follow. Every Monday.
Friday, May 28, 2010
convenient controversy
Dr. Jordan called me yesterday, wanting to prevent my overreacting.
"Have you seen your new Choral Journal?" he asked.
"Uh, not yet..." I admitted.
"Well, don't freak out. There's a letter to the editor about your article..."
As if I've ever freaked out about anything. Lately. Since the last time.
The letter says my model of conducting "holds the director responsible for the unified emotional expression of the singers--with the director being the leading spark in the circuit... Unfortunately, this model disempowers the singers." The writer then goes on to offer an alternative, with some methods of empowering singers to "sing with a unified expression of their own."
That's not what I meant to say. What I meant to say was this:
That's not what I meant to say. What I meant to say was this:
All the stuff conductors learn to do isn't just artsy fartsy music baloney; it's a process supported by some very cool science.I know the paradigm of conductor-as-monarch exists, both in terms of emotional leadership and musical guidance; so, that makes it my fault for not directly clarifying how my model is different from that. I took it for granted that conductors all know that the individual members of the ensemble have to be individually empowered to perform the music with their own expressive intent.
Here is my clarification. (Well, if you read the whole blog it'll become clear, but for those who don't have time for that, here's a condensed version.) Ahem:
A conductor is not responsible for the unified emotional expression of the singers. The singers are and must be responsible for their own emotional expression. A conductor is responsible for embodying the expressive intent of the composer though gesture (just as the ensemble members are responsible for expressing the composer's intention through singing or playing) and, in fact, the point of my model is that the conductor is responsible for consistent embodiment of the expressive intent of the composer so that he may remind the singers to do so, too. So that he may influence the sound though living intention, fostering the living intention of the ensemble members.
I do not state explicitly in the article, but I think the article supports the idea that it's counterintuitive for us to ask our singers to have a "compelling purpose for singing" (in the well-chosen words of the letter-writer) unless we display compelling purpose in our gesture. If we have compelling purpose, it will only benefit the singers, help them to commit more fully to their expression.
The letter-writer says, "even when the director's affect is deadpan, such a choir will bring down the house." To which I reply, "oh, but what if the conductor lived the music with them? Wouldn't that make it easier for them? Might that not inspire them?"
Yes. Yes, it would.
Because, as I explain so eloquently in the article as well as here and here and here, we are built to communicate. We are made to feel the feelings of those around us.
If the conductor stands deadpan, which no one is actually advocating, then the singers must first shut the conductor out--make the choice to ignore the feelings that are seeping out of him (because the fact is, we influence them whether we intend to or not; there are feelings seeping out in spontaneous expression of our inner state, even from what may appear to be a "deadpan" expression). Then they are on their own to express of their own initiative.
If the conductor stands deadpan, which no one is actually advocating, then the singers must first shut the conductor out--make the choice to ignore the feelings that are seeping out of him (because the fact is, we influence them whether we intend to or not; there are feelings seeping out in spontaneous expression of our inner state, even from what may appear to be a "deadpan" expression). Then they are on their own to express of their own initiative.
That could work, but the way we actually do it is so much easier! It eliminates the step of turning off their natural inclination to empathize and instead takes advantage of it. If the conductor is showing them living humanity, that feeds them and makes it easier for them to do their job.
So you see, there isn't actually any controversy. We all know conductors must be expressive--the question of "how" is open to interpretation, and I discuss that elsewhere. The question of "why" is the one I was addressing in the article.
*******
To the conductors who are reading this, I'll just also let you know that I've got a whole other sciencey controversy saying mirror neurons have never been seen in humans and biomotion is where it's at. I'm still wading through all that--it's much slower, obviously, because it's a foreign language to me, but I'll let you know when (?) I have any kind of insight.
*******
And now, my response to the response to the response.
The Editorial Associate who responds to the letter, David Stocker (hello!), says the letter "errs about the same distance as the original author [me!], only on the other side of the continuum."
Well, I mean. I ask you. Really?!
Granted, the article is written to conductors about conducting and is, yes, explaining why it's important for a conductor to embody the emotional intent of the composer. So, no, I don't talk much about the singers' own intentions. So I can see where he might get the whole "erring the same distance on the other side of the continuum" thing. But I'm here to tell you that I do, in fact, believe that every singer's intention is every bit as important as the conductor's and that the conductor's expressive displays are only useful insomuch as they inspire and influence the initiative of the performers' intention.
(Look, the limit for articles at Choral Journal was eighteen pages and I wrote twenty after substantial editing and making the font smaller. I can't write about everything all at once! That's why I have a blog now. I can write about everything in little snippets. James Jordan keeps writing books. I'm a generation younger, so I have a blog. We, Dr. Jordan's students, sometimes tease him about the library of books he keeps writing, but I can relate to the impulse that drives him to it.)
Anyway, Dr. Stocker then goes on, "The issue here is 'What is an ensemble?'"
That is a fascinating issue, though it was not the issue I was writing about (because I can't write about everything all at once): again, I was just trying to demonstrate that all the stuff conductors learn to do isn't just artsy fartsy music baloney; it's a process supported by some very cool science. It works not just because of cultural conventions constructed around it, but because it comes from the deepest nature of our humanity.
But since he asked...
What is an ensemble?
That's going to have to wait for another post, I'm afraid. This one is already too long.
metronomes
I have a metronome that cost $100. I bought it in 2005, in the last semester of my master's degree. It's a Seiko SQ 100-88 digital quartz metronome. I bought it because it's loud.
I'm sure you all know what metronomes are, but I won't let it be said I talked over anyone's head, so in case you don't: a metronome is a device that clicks at a stead speed which you set. We measure speed in beats per minute. 60 means one beat each second. 120 means two beats each second. 40 means really slow.
(Imagine the father from My Big, Fat Greek Wedding now.) It come... from the Greek! Metro, it mean "measure." Nome, it mean "little guy who sits in your yard clicking loudly."
Metronomes are a basic musician tool, but perhaps more important for conductors than other musicians. Others set tempos for practicing, to hear the tick to help force them to stay in time. Conductors also use it to experiment with tempi, so that we can choose one and hopefully be consistent with performing at the right one. (I have problems with that--I tend to go faster in performance than I do in rehearsal. Nerves and things make the heart beat faster, endocrine system go nuts, tends to make people move faster. Gotta get over that.)
So, my metronome is damn fancy. You can set the beat speed, then select if you want it to click subdivisions: none, dupets, only the second duplet (the "ands" of beats), triplets, triplets with the middle one missing ("1 rest uh" instead of "one and uh", quadruplets, or quadruplets with the middle two missing ("one rest rest uh" instead of "one i and uh"). Then you can set how many beats in the meter, and it will click a higher pitch for beat 1 of every measure.
In addition to all those options, it has a whole second metronome built in! There is a button you can push to get to a second group of settings. So if a piece changes tempo or meter, you can store both and get from one to the other with just a single button. Or, in rehearsal, I am using the metronome for two different pieces, I can set it beforehand and not waste time fiddling with it on the podium. FANCY!
It also has a built-in tuner set automatically to A 440, but you can play any pitch from C2 to B6, tuned to A 415 (a common early music tuning) or 438-446 (in case you're tuning to an instrument like a piano or organ that is tuned slightly sharp or flat). I never use this feature--if I need a pitch, I use a tuning fork because acoustical pitch is easier to hear than an electronic one--but it does lead me to the volume.
It's loud.
My metronome has a port for a 1/4 inch phone jack. I could use headphones or even plug in speakers. But the speaker on my metronome is pretty dang loud. Which is, as I said, why I bought it.
Robert Shaw used to hang a pendulum in rehearsal in order to maximize entrainment among the singers. I wrote about entrainment in the "Thoughtful Gestures" article upon which most of this blog is based, and I will write about it here separately soon (which is one of the reasons I'm writing this metronome post now). Suffice it to say, I sometimes play my metronome at my choir. They don't like it because it's a loud electronic beep and/or click, but it works.
Other conductors have metronome apps on their iPhones. You can also find metronomes online for free, in case you have your laptop in the practice room. I have a loud, Greek, clicking gnome. A little clunky, but I'm fond of it.
Did I mention it had a kick stand in the back so you can stand it up?
I'm sure you all know what metronomes are, but I won't let it be said I talked over anyone's head, so in case you don't: a metronome is a device that clicks at a stead speed which you set. We measure speed in beats per minute. 60 means one beat each second. 120 means two beats each second. 40 means really slow.
(Imagine the father from My Big, Fat Greek Wedding now.) It come... from the Greek! Metro, it mean "measure." Nome, it mean "little guy who sits in your yard clicking loudly."
Metronomes are a basic musician tool, but perhaps more important for conductors than other musicians. Others set tempos for practicing, to hear the tick to help force them to stay in time. Conductors also use it to experiment with tempi, so that we can choose one and hopefully be consistent with performing at the right one. (I have problems with that--I tend to go faster in performance than I do in rehearsal. Nerves and things make the heart beat faster, endocrine system go nuts, tends to make people move faster. Gotta get over that.)
So, my metronome is damn fancy. You can set the beat speed, then select if you want it to click subdivisions: none, dupets, only the second duplet (the "ands" of beats), triplets, triplets with the middle one missing ("1 rest uh" instead of "one and uh", quadruplets, or quadruplets with the middle two missing ("one rest rest uh" instead of "one i and uh"). Then you can set how many beats in the meter, and it will click a higher pitch for beat 1 of every measure.
In addition to all those options, it has a whole second metronome built in! There is a button you can push to get to a second group of settings. So if a piece changes tempo or meter, you can store both and get from one to the other with just a single button. Or, in rehearsal, I am using the metronome for two different pieces, I can set it beforehand and not waste time fiddling with it on the podium. FANCY!
It also has a built-in tuner set automatically to A 440, but you can play any pitch from C2 to B6, tuned to A 415 (a common early music tuning) or 438-446 (in case you're tuning to an instrument like a piano or organ that is tuned slightly sharp or flat). I never use this feature--if I need a pitch, I use a tuning fork because acoustical pitch is easier to hear than an electronic one--but it does lead me to the volume.
It's loud.
My metronome has a port for a 1/4 inch phone jack. I could use headphones or even plug in speakers. But the speaker on my metronome is pretty dang loud. Which is, as I said, why I bought it.
Robert Shaw used to hang a pendulum in rehearsal in order to maximize entrainment among the singers. I wrote about entrainment in the "Thoughtful Gestures" article upon which most of this blog is based, and I will write about it here separately soon (which is one of the reasons I'm writing this metronome post now). Suffice it to say, I sometimes play my metronome at my choir. They don't like it because it's a loud electronic beep and/or click, but it works.
Other conductors have metronome apps on their iPhones. You can also find metronomes online for free, in case you have your laptop in the practice room. I have a loud, Greek, clicking gnome. A little clunky, but I'm fond of it.
Did I mention it had a kick stand in the back so you can stand it up?
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