Musicians and money

A few months ago, I got a call from Cindy, a local church organist who is kind enough to listen to me when I need to do dry runs of my forthcoming solo piano recitals. One of Cindy's parishioners had asked her to accompany a program of music for clarinet, French horn and piano. She played through the first page of a trio by Gustav Jenner, Brahms's only composition student, closed the book and, concluding that it was over her head, called me to ask if I'd take on the task.

The repertoire was daunting— two movements of Jenner, three movements of the Brahms F Minor Clarinet Sonata, the Dukas Villanelle for horn and piano, a movement of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto, and two movements from Mozart's fourth Horn Concerto. The only moments of respite for the pianist were two slow movements by Mozart.

I like to give myself a bit of a break in the summer, but since I wasn't due to receive a check from my university job until the end of September, a late August concert seemed like a wonderful idea.

Soon after, I received a call from the group's clarinetist, Tom Sanders, an elderly man with a gentle voice. He explained that his daughter, Barbara, would be the horn player. Barbara has a day job, but she plays in both a wind ensemble and an orchestra in the Pittsburgh area; she was recently the horn soloist for the latter group's performance of the previously mentioned Dukas.

Heartless advice

Tom is an amateur musician but well-trained, having studied with Paul Garrett, of the Washington Symphony, Robert Marcellus (who became the principal clarinetist for the Cleveland Orchestra) and Ted Johnson (also of the Cleveland). Tom was told at a relatively young age that if he wanted to eat he would have to do something other than play the clarinet— a rather heartless way to put it, I think. He took the advice but never stopped playing. (Barbara told me that as a child, she and her three siblings would be summoned by their father to the living room whenever classical music was featured on TV, and that speaking during these performances was strictly forbidden.)

I confirmed that I could play the concert and named my price, which was hardly exorbitant, given my training and experience as well as the level of difficulty. Nevertheless, Tom reacted with dismay, because the church organist who backed out was going to play gratis. Fortunately for my negotiating position, Tom Sanders was one clarinetist who understands very well why Cindy had backed out.

Meeting on a streetcar

Years earlier, Tom told me, when he was in his early 20s and working for the federal government, he was carrying his clarinet case on a streetcar in Washington D.C. An "old guy—maybe 33 or so"— asked him if he played the Brahms sonatas. When Tom confirmed that he did, he was invited by this pianist (whose name was Staunton) to come over. This isn't an invitation many would accept in these less trusting days, but since Staunton lived two blocks away, they did end up making music together. Staunton was only interested in playing Brahms, which gave Tom Sanders ample experience with the German master's two works for clarinet and piano, at least for the few years before Tom relocated to Pittsburgh.

Upon moving, Tom soon discovered that amateur pianists who can play the Brahms clarinet sonatas are rare. For many years, he tried to find an exception to this rule, but his search was fruitless. I think my insistence on being paid to play the concert confirmed the notion that if he wanted to play Brahms again, he'd have to hire someone.

You see, Tom's fingertips aren't as sensitive as they used to be; he doesn't tongue as fast as he did before; and his breath support has declined a bit too. There was no time like the present, since his window of opportunity to successfully pull off Brahms in public might be closing. I found myself in the rare position, for a musician, of actually possessing some bargaining leverage.

Potential for disaster

Tom agreed to my price, saying he'd ask his daughter to chip in. We agreed on two rehearsals, one in each venue, and I went to work.

Did I mention that this was a challenging program?

I had played the Jenner trio about six months earlier, thank God, but I distinctly remembered being glad, after that performance, to be rid of it. It's not bad to listen to, but even the slow movement is challenging, and the piece in its entirety lasts a half-hour. I was grateful to be playing only two movements, but one of them has great potential for disaster, in the form of a fast tempo and huge leaps, far too often with awkward landings.

All the other pieces were new to me. They're harmonically accessible, being rooted in the musical language of the 18th and 19th Centuries, and I had to learn the Brahms anyway to play with a friend in late October. But with every practice session the fee I had quoted seemed more of a bargain.

If I weren't paid…..

Tom's remark that amateur pianists don't play the Brahms sonata got me thinking: Would I ever spend the time necessary to do even a decent job with such a difficult piece if I weren't getting paid?

I doubt it. I've donated my services on occasion if the music was relatively easy, but never when it would require serious effort on my part.

A few years ago I resurrected an idea from my grad school days— the musical soiree. I'd invite musician friends of all types and levels— amateur and professional; jazz, gospel and classical— to have a meal and make music without any rehearsal. The idea was to truly "play," just for fun. And it is fun. I derive real joy from music, especially from rehearsing and performing with highly skilled colleagues. But the spirit behind the soiree is different— not goal-oriented, for a change.

Another invitation

The performances with Tom and Barbara went well enough that one of Tom's fellow Rotarians, who said he didn't even think he liked classical music until he attended that concert, invited him to perform at a meeting as a way to inspire others to pull out their instruments and continue playing. Tom asked me if I would play for that performance too, even though the Rotary doesn't pay speakers or performers. I agreed, giving Tom a date the week of the concert in which I would be playing the Brahms anyway.

Tom called again a few days later to say that the date I had suggested was already booked. Would I do it in January?

I'm thinking about it. I already have an engagement or two scheduled for January. It's hard to do everything well when your time is limited, and paying jobs must get priority.

I'd like to play for Tom again, though. There's something to be said for a man who has maintained such a passion for an instrument he was told he would never play "well enough." You must love music deeply to be a professional, but the love needs to be even deeper to keep playing difficult pieces when you're not being paid.

No matter what I decide, I'm certain Tom Sanders will continue to play the clarinet as long as he's able. I doubt that the Brahms we played in August was his last performance of that piece— but if it was, I'm honored that I was a part of it.♦


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