27
Health food may be good for the conscience but Oreos taste a hell of a lot better.
—Robert Redford
It is difficult to estimate the number of times I have heard, “Conductors are among the longest-lived people in the world.” It is thought that the simple act of moving ones arms around for a couple of hours is enough to keep the blood flowing. To put it in a different context, here are longevity figures for some very distinguished conductors.
| Gustav Mahler | 51 |
| Wilhelm Furtwängler | 58 |
| Dimitri Mitropoulos | 64 |
| Leonard Bernstein | 72 |
| Fritz Reiner | 75 |
| Sir Thomas Beecham | 82 |
| Sir Georg Solti | 85 |
| Bruno Walter | 86 |
| Arturo Toscanini | 90 |
| Carlo Maria Giulini | 91 |
| Leopold Stokowski | 95 |
Perhaps there is a correlation between the profession and good health. Of course, other conductors expired at younger ages, and some on this list did not conduct toward the end of their lives.
There is no question that conducting is an aerobic activity. Professional athletes will acknowledge that necessary, constant motions for a steady length of time will, in some cases, exceed that of, say, a football player. We only get time-outs between movements or at intermission, if there is one. In each piece, the orchestral musician has the occasional rest or two along the way. If the conductor is lucky, a concerto may include a nice long cadenza.
For the most part, our job is to keep going. Some conductors make the mistake of expending huge amounts of energy early on in a performance, and then have little left for the home stretch. Others use minimal gestures, which can have an adverse effect of making the opening moments seem too casual. Each person on the podium has his or her catalog of physical gestures.
With more women entering the profession, actual physiognomy deserves more attention. When I teach, inevitably I see students who try to mimic their idols or mentors. It might be through their personal appearance, posture, facial expression or the gestures they use to communicate with the orchestra. I always wind up offering the same advice: “Be yourself. You are built uniquely. Go with what you have, and do not add anything that alters your basic makeup. Do not imitate what is good but do avoid what is bad.”
Starting in the 1980s, women have become increasingly prominent on the podium. Their bodies are uniquely built and they should not necessarily try to imitate their male counterparts when conducting. Each needs to adjust the beat and expressive gesture to fit the physical demeanor of the body he or she was born with. To do otherwise simply imitates and does not represent the singular presence of the individual.
Just as the composer must have a distinctive voice, so must the conductor have a personal physical profile. Some of us are short, others tall. A few have very long arms. We can control our weight but that is about it. Range of motion, the ability to stand still or move around and the manner of eye contact with the players comprise part of what must be considered when mounting the podium.
A tall person does not need a long baton and also sometimes chooses not to use a podium. However, even a tall conductor standing on the floor forces some players in the back of the sections to look very hard to find a beat. Conversely, shorter conductors can heed the advice of Teddy Roosevelt, when he wrote, “Speak softly and carry a big stick.” Perhaps speaking softly is not the best tactic, as those same people in the back of the section need to hear you, too.
Obviously, the more assertive and aggressive the conductor, the more he or she will perspire. One cannot assume that this leads to weight control. I would lose almost two pounds of water weight per program. It was quickly made up at the post-performance dinner. We all know the perils of heavy eating late at night, but the conductor has very few options.
Unlike some wind players or singers who sometimes prefer to dine fairly close to curtain time, conductors will usually have a lunch around mid-afternoon. Dining soon before the commencement of the concert makes concentration difficult and can be a little uncomfortable. Besides, the big meal tends to be saved up as a celebratory gesture. It can last well into the wee hours of the morning.
Americans have heard time and time again about the importance of a good breakfast, but most people do not have to exert the high degree of physical activity required to get through a couple of rehearsals. It’s the same on concert nights. If I eat even a “normal” meal in the morning, I get sluggish and start to feel uncomfortable when conducting. I might grab an apple, or maybe a bowl of cereal. Another part of the Western regimen of which I do not partake is drinking coffee. Never liked the taste or smell. Plus, I usually pop out of bed ready to go without the need for caffeine.
Problems of weight rarely come to mind when it comes to conductors. Once again, there seems to be a correlation between the aerobics of conducting and health. Huffing and puffing through a rehearsal or performance is not good. Generally, conductors are trim enough, and of the ten mentioned earlier in this chapter, only Bernstein seems to have had a problem belly. And that, likely due to overindulgence of items other than food.
Perhaps the lower back is the area of concern shared by every person standing in front of an orchestra. I do not know of a single conductor who has not experienced spinal trouble. Whereas instrumentalists might complain about the tailcoat or other concert attire, conductors might speak about shoes. For some, back problems start right away. Imagine standing on a solid platform, giving a strong downward gesture, and not getting the spring back from the floor. Those conductors who are especially physical subject the spine to an abnormal amount of pressure.
Although it might sound like a luxury, massage is almost crucial in this profession. Identifying the problem areas is not as easy as it might appear. For some conductors, the first signs of trouble might come in the form of tightness in the arms. Others experience difficulty in turning their heads from side to side, relying more on gestures and less on eye contact with every orchestra member. There are conductors who can never find a comfortable place to stand on the podium and whose backs are constantly in agony.
The podium itself can be to blame. A few conductors have had one custom made, often with a material that cushions the feet and minimizes the impact on the lower back. When there is enough spinal pain involved, the body will not allow you to leap or jump as you might be used to. On one occasion with the New York Philharmonic, I had Le sacre on the second half of the program. My back was killing me and I asked the whereabouts of the orchestra doctor. Fortunately he was around and recommended I take Motrin. When I asked, “One or two?” he replied, “Four! You don’t have a headache!”
Dependence on drugs, even of the mild variety, can have adverse effects. If there is one thing more important than the physical capacity to actually conduct, it is the mental ability to concentrate. As much as the news reports about drug abuse in the pop and jazz world, it is still an unspoken subject in the orchestral strata. Overuse of alcohol and controlled substances certainly takes place.
Arthur Fiedler needed to have a bottle of Scotch waiting as he came off the stage. The illustrious big band leader and arranger Billy May actually had a glass of booze on the music stand as he was conducting recording sessions. Some orchestra and jazz musicians claim they play better when a bit high. At least they think they do. The use of beta-blockers to combat shaky nerves is becoming prevalent among classical performers.
It is a fine line between insecurity and nervousness. I once asked my father why he did not seem to have any anxiety when performing.
“I practice, study, work hard and feel prepared. Most of the time it comes out fine and once in a while it does not, but I can never say that I was not ready.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “if I have not practiced, did not study, did not work hard and am not prepared, not only should I be nervous, I shouldn’t be onstage in the first place!”
Tough words for a young musician, but ones that I kept to heart.
The only times I have ever felt even the slightest hesitation about onstage performances were those where I knew that I could have done more. Of course that can apply to any appearance, but there comes a point where it is fine-tuning as opposed to lack of knowledge. There is also a fine line between anxiety and excitement. Adrenaline can be a powerful agent and it is perfectly all right to have a degree of apprehension, but it must never override the joy of walking onto the concert platform.
Another physical ailment that afflicts many conductors is plantar fasciitis. I had never heard of it until my feet started to give me trouble. This was in 2007 and I had arrived in Tanglewood. All of a sudden, walking was painful. The soles of my feet seemed to be in constant agony. Getting up in the morning was the worst and I had no idea what was happening.
Upon my return to Detroit, I was sent to a foot specialist who made the diagnosis. Charts and diagrams were trotted out and I was given a set of exercises to stretch out the afflicted area. There was still not much improvement. A few weeks later I was in Taipei.
During this tour, a relative of the violinist Cho-Liang Lin had contacted me. She invited me to dinner with some friends and family. When they picked me up, they asked about my impressions of the city.
“It is wonderful. I love the museums and have enjoyed the foot massage parlors, especially since I have plantar fasciitis.”
The reply was, “Are you all right? We should take you to the hospital.”
“No, I am fine.”
“But I am a doctor there and we have a whole section devoted to this problem.”
So off we drove to the Taipei Hilton Medical Center, which was more like a small city rather than a hospital. Indeed, there was a place devoted to the construction of implants for shoes meant to ease the problem. In ten minutes, I had been x-rayed, examined and fitted. This would have taken two weeks at home.
It took a little while but the pain went away.
At the outset of this chapter, I listed the ages at which some distinguished conductors had passed away. Here are the official causes of death.
| Mahler | infectious myocarditis |
| Furtwängler | pneumonia |
| Mitropoulos | heart attack |
| Bernstein | progressive lung failure |
| Reiner | heart attack |
| Beecham | stroke |
| Solti | heart failure |
| Walter | heart attack |
| Toscanini | stroke |
| Giulini | not reported |
| Stokowski | heart attack |
In 2009, my own bout with mortality took place. The following is what I wrote for the monthly column on my website.
December 2009
No complaints this month. In many ways, I am lucky to be writing anything at all. But with the enforced vacation due to a heart attack on November 1, I have had some time to reflect about many matters, most having very little to do with music.
Here is what happened.
During my week of rehearsals and concerts in Rotterdam, I had started to feel a bit out of breath, especially walking over to the hall. Being somewhat overweight, this was not out of the ordinary, but once in a while, I actually had to stop. This should have told me something.
There were four concerts all together. During the first three, I got a bit winded and dizzy but got through the programs easily enough. At the first performance I felt I might actually fall forward off the podium and attributed this to simply not getting my balance. There were even moments when I knew I was losing concentration, but again, I ignored the signs and thought it was jet lag.
The final performance was on Sunday, at 2:30 in the afternoon. I had brought my luggage to the hall, as my flight to Prague for the next set of concerts was due to leave at 8:30 p.m. It is about an hour’s drive from Rotterdam to Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. Again, I got quite out of breath walking to the hall, but this time the feeling did not dissipate, at least for a while.
When I got to my dressing room, I was already huffing and puffing. The first piece on the program was the Third Piano Concerto of Beethoven, not a particularly physical work for the conductor. As it progressed, I began to feel much better. However, during intermission, I started to experience the out-of-breath symptoms that had occurred an hour earlier. Someone asked me if I was okay and I said yes. Then things started to change.
The moment I got to the podium for the Rachmaninov Second Symphony, I started to feel tightness in my chest, almost like someone was standing on it, trying to prevent me from breathing. I really did think that I should leave the stage for a few minutes and get some water. The reason I did not suspect a heart attack at that point was that there was no tingling in either the jaw or left arm, symptoms which I have always thought were the signals of a coronary event.
I am not sure what it was that made me believe I could get through the almost hour-long work, but somehow, I did. At that point I was perspiring profusely and the pain in my chest was unbearable. Collapsing on the couch in the dressing room, I asked for the door to be closed while I caught my breath. A few minutes later, Frans, the head of the stage department and a very fine fellow, came back in and called the medical team. Each European house has such a group on standby and they rushed into the dressing room.
By this time, my shirt was off, and I was desperately trying to find a comfortable position. Cold towels were pressed on my forehead. All that was on my mind was that the pain was increasing and I needed help. The medical assistants then uttered the magic words, “You are having a heart attack but will be okay. An ambulance is on the way.”
I called my girlfriend, Cindy McTee, who was in Dallas at the time. At first she did not believe that there was anything wrong, but after the phone was taken away from me, it became clear that all was not well. She caught the first flight out and arrived in Rotterdam, staying on to take care of me.
Much of the next hour is a blur. I remember being hoisted onto a stretcher, being taken outside in the rain to the car and arriving at the hospital. We raced down a hallway and into an operating theater. I think there were only a few questions, like what I was allergic to, name, age and so on. Insurance never came up. The angioplasty progressed with me somewhat awake and able to see the wire going up my artery.
At some point I started to feel better and woke up in the hospital’s intensive care unit. There was much fussing and constant monitoring. A medical unit came in to tell me what had happened and what they had done. The angioplasty was successful and I now had three stents and a balloon pump in my body. Uncomfortable? Oh, yes! But better than the alternative.
My job now was to just listen and follow instructions. So for the next ten days, I stayed put with occasional forays into the hallways, attempting to get some motion back. This was not so easy and often I used a walker to get around. Eventually I managed on my own. It was even possible to survive the rigorously bland items that passed as food. Jell-O never looked so good.
It was initially thought that I might get back to the States in six or seven days, but then the doctors decided that pushing it was not a good idea. So on the Monday nine days after the heart attack, I took a stress test on a stationary bicycle, passed and went to Miami. Many years ago, in DC, I had seen a cardiologist who would later move to Florida and become the dean of the University Medical Center. I decided to stick with a doctor I knew for the next phase of evaluation.
After three days, it was determined that my heart had not suffered very much damage, but that I needed a few more weeks of rest and recovery. At first, my own thoughts were that I could easily conduct one half of a program, probably doing just the concertos that were scheduled, maybe one rehearsal and then perform the concerts sitting down, not expending too much energy. But it became clear that even this was not possible, as I grew fairly tired as the day progressed. I also tried not to do very much paperwork either, with just a little time spent moving program ideas around for next season.
It was awfully good to get back to my home, where I could enjoy cooking in new and different ways, do a bit of low-impact exercise, and catch up on DVDs that have been lingering on shelves for months on end. At one point I was surprised at how easy it was to let go for a bit. Not similar to a vacation, but much needed after all I had been through.
What did I learn from this?
Perhaps not quite as much in life-changing experience as I thought. No major revelations, as almost everything I had thought about this past month was something that had been on my mind earlier. Slowing down? Probably a bit, with more time off. Obsessing about details? I am not sure that I am capable of letting go of the control issues that face almost every conductor. It is part of our being. But maybe more delegation of certain aspects of the job can take place. It truly was no problem letting substitutes fill in for me. After all, this was how I got my start, jumping in for indisposed conductors way back in 1974.
I was reminded of a trip to Milwaukee that I made almost forty years ago. At the time, I was assistant conductor in Saint Louis and spent a great deal of time flying up to Chicago to hear concerts there. This was during the period when Sir Georg Solti was music director and Carlo Maria Giulini was principal guest conductor. The orchestra used to play a series of concerts in Wisconsin, on Monday nights, and I would go in a car with the conductor, giving me a wonderful opportunity to speak with the maestro in a calm environment.
Giulini very rarely spoke about music itself. He was mostly concerned with the philosophy that underscored a piece or even a note. He told me about a time in his life, when he was not quite fifty years old and had to undergo a serious operation. It was possible that he might not have survived the surgery. When he awoke from the procedure, he made a vow to himself, and these were words I would never forget: “You must make music a part of your life and never make life a part of your music.”
Maybe experience of a life-threatening situation is necessary to fully comprehend this. That it took this long for me to act upon his wisdom is unfortunate. Perhaps others can follow the advice sooner and not wait until it is almost too late.
In retrospect, it appears that the actual episode was exacerbated by the physical act of conducting. The aerobic activity definitely caused the clogged artery to be pushed to its limit. There are many examples of athletes who have collapsed in the midst of their own performance. Still, the active lifestyle probably kept me around longer.
The level of exercise does not determine a person’s physical fitness. Plus, there are mental and emotional factors. These can lead to more disruptions and may cause a loss of concentration, something no conductor can afford.
In addition to the responsibility for personal conditions, the music director must be alert and sensitive to each and every performer on the stage. At a rehearsal in Atlanta, the second trombonist collapsed and was writhing onstage. I quickly shouted for someone to call 911 and in five minutes a team was on the way to take care of what had been an epileptic seizure. With all the anxiety, it seemed best to cancel the remainder of the rehearsal, and the orchestra understood that we would have to make up lost ground the next day.
Over two successive performances, a pair of audience members suffered heart episodes during concerts I was conducting with the Bamberg Symphony. It was best to leave this in the hands of the medical staff in attendance and continue with the concert. By bizarre coincidence, both incidents took place at the same moment during the fourth movement of Schumann’s “Rhenish” Symphony, a piece depicting the great cathedral of Cologne.
The conductor needs to grasp any problem immediately and make an instantaneous decision. If it is your own orchestra and you know the personalities involved, most likely you will have a good idea of what to do. If you are on the road, your main contact will be the personnel manager. Do not wade into something on your own here. Practical knowledge and common sense will dictate what must occur.
In one’s life there are certainly matters that do not rely exclusively on physical well-being. The conductor’s life is somewhat solitary, and being on the road only amplifies that status. It takes a toll on most musicians’ personal lives. I envy those who have been able to maintain solid relationships. One can go looking for pleasure or escape. Likewise, it can find you.
I am not so sure that my inability to sustain a stable personal life was due to roadwork, although there is no question that this played a key factor. My first two marriages were brief, lasting one and two and a half years. The third lasted over twenty years, and during that time, I became a father. When your life is devoted to music, you will be apart from family for weeks at a stretch, sometimes months. This requires an unbelievably strong will and extraordinary patience from your partner.
That partner who enters into a living arrangement with a conductor, and in particular a music director, has a significant role to play. In the past, this person was meant to represent and be subservient to her husband. Yes, I know this sounds ridiculous nowadays, but back then, only men held the job and the wife was the social butterfly, advocating on behalf of her spouse. She traveled constantly at his side, and somehow managed to raise a family. After the conductor died, she inevitably wrote a book.
Physical and mental health are important issues to consider. It is not so much that conducting is beneficial because of the aerobic activity involved. Conducting also provides a physical outlet for virtually every emotion. If the music is tender we can show that. Violent, passionate, serene and every other feeling you can imagine all exist in most pieces of music. Being able to convey these to the orchestra and audience makes the rehearsal and concert experience special. Feeling them on the inside makes it unique.
Perhaps conductors are long lived after all, but not because they move around on the podium. Instead, it might come from being moved by the nature of the music itself. The connection with the past is very powerful. Every day, the musician gets to do what doctors can only dream: bring the past to life.