Mysteries of conducting, with Sean Newhouse

What does an orchestra conductor really accomplish when he waves his baton and seems magically to evoke a world of music from several dozen fine musicians? Is it sheer mystique or sure skill?

The conductor wasn't always the charismatic "chieftain" of the orchestra. During the baroque period, a musician—often the composer— conducted from his instrument, as Bach did from his keyboard, mainly keeping time and signaling entrances. A skilled orchestral ensemble is capable of grasping the music and providing a capable performance from within its own ranks, as leaderless groups like the Orpheus Chamber Ensemble demonstrate.

Conductor Otto Klemperer was once invited to lead the famous conductor-less Pervyi Simfonicheskii Ansambl in a concert in Moscow. Midway through the program, Klemperer put down his baton and took a seat in the audience, and the ensemble finished without him.

Of course, the full symphony orchestra needs someone to perform the custodial functions of beating time and maintaining morale, momentum and, in some cases, inspiration. But why do top orchestras carry out worldwide searches for music directors and guest conductors, and why do audiences line up at the box office to hear particular "great" conductors practice their art? What are they are looking and listening for that's so special and even mysterious?

Sawallisch's assets

The obvious qualities are mastery of the repertoire, a dramatic interpretive sense, and an ability to inspire an orchestra to perform at their best. Wolfgang Sawallisch represented the height of such qualifications during his tenure with the Philadelphia Orchestra (1993-2003). He thoroughly mastered the scores, conducted with remarkable precision, could make the music glow with controlled intensity, and engendered uncompromising standards of musicianship.

The Orchestra's new maestro, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, to judge from his few performances thus far, appears to possess similar capabilities in addition to his remarkable spark and energy.

But what exactly does the conductor do on the podium above and beyond keeping time and keeping the orchestra on its toes?

Sean Newhouse, assistant conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra under the great James Levine, is himself on the cusp of becoming a world-class conductor. Above and beyond the superb mentoring Newhouse received from the likes of David Zinman and Levine himself, he must have done some rapid-fire soul searching about his craft when, last February, he was called upon with two hours' notice to fill in for the ailing Maestro Levine for four performances of Mahler's Ninth Symphony, a behemoth that typically requires hours of rehearsal to implement. In a recent conversation, Newhouse pointed to features of the art of conducting that audiences may take for granted.

How sound carries

For one thing, the full complement of the large-scale symphony orchestra is spread over a broad stage, and it takes time for the more distant sounds to reach each member and the conductor (think of the delay between the sight of lightning and the thunder that's emitted with it.) This situation requires a conductor to arrange his beat so that all the sounds arrive at the audience simultaneously.

"That's a very important issue," Newhouse says, "and it's not just because of the delay in the sound, but also because of the way the orchestra functions. For example, the musicians of the Boston Symphony Orchestra are always listening to each other. They're all waiting for each other all the time to make sure they're not stepping on each other's toes. So that creates an additional delay. And the duration of the delay varies, depending on the type and style of the music. And the better the orchestra, the more the delay. So when, as a conductor, you first approach a really fine orchestra, it can be quite daunting."

When a soloist performs, Newhouse notes, "This is where it gets really tricky, because the soloist is basically in charge most of the time. My job with soloists is to give them their best chance to put forth their vision of the piece. So I have to follow the soloist. But if I do so, then I will fall behind, so I almost have to predict what the soloist is going to do."

This creates a paradoxical situation for the conductor. He must listen to every note, yet, in order not to be diverted, says Newhouse, "You have to conduct the orchestra as if they're not there!"

"'It's not about you'

Such tasks require adroit leadership skills in the preparation of a performance. On the one hand, the conductor must be a strong leader; on the other, he must follow the musicians' needs and desires. He must identify with the musicians while simultaneously remaining above them.

"A conductor must have an ego in the sense of having the confidence in his vision of the music in order to be effective," Newhouse says. "But at the same time, it's not about you; it's about the music."

Sublime moments

Music is meant to be enjoyable and beautiful, but ultimately it's also intended to manifest the truth that resonates deeply inside us, reflecting the deeper meanings inherent in our individual and collective lives. "You have to weigh what is going to move the listener the most," Newhouse says. "What is going to make the most impact? What is going to capture the essence of the piece?"

The German philosopher Georg Gadamer held that the truth inherent in a work of art transcends its "method," reveals something hidden, and represents a dialogue between the observer and observed. In the case of music, that would involve a conjunction between composer, performers and audience.

Carlos Kleiber's celebrated recording of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, for example (Deutsche Grammophon, 1975; CD release 1996), is electrifying not merely because of its discipline and technique but because it brings out the human struggle for triumph over adversity as Beethoven intended and also rings true to the 20th-Century listener's heart. A conductor capable of delivering such a sublime moment amply deserves whatever acclaim and compensation he receives.