THE MASTERS FORUM PRESENTS BENJAMIN ZANDER SESSION ESSAY December 5, 2000 Benjamin Zander Conductor, Boston Philharmonic Orchestra "Living on One Buttock" Essay by Michael Finley On The Edge I heard this joke once at a meeting of the senior consultants First Boston: An associate conductor for a regional orchestra was asked to guest conduct for an orchestra 1000 miles away. He arrives at the concert hall eager to meet orchestra members and establish good chemistry with them. All seems well except for the concertmaster violinist, who regards him throughout the performance with a baleful frown. The conductor tries everything to get on the violinist's good side -- he tries being athletic, modest, emphatic, solicitous -- but nothing changes the expression on the violinist's face. So preoccupied is he with the concertmaster's frown that the entire concert falls flat. He knows he will never be invited back. But before he returns, he decides to have it out with his nemesis. "All through the concert you frowned at me. Nothing I did was good enough for you. What did I ever do to you?" To which the concertmaster blinks languidly and replies, in a thick Czech accent, "I hate music." So what is this "one buttock" stuff? Zander explained it immediately. Illustrating the difference in piano-playing at ages 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11. Each year, the awareness of the music deepens, until the pianist finds him or herself sitting on the edge of the piano bench -- on one buttock. The posture bespeaks a level of involvement, of suspense even, that a beginner or disinterested party is incapable of. You cannot sit on the edge of the bench, on one buttock, and hate music. One thing obvious about Benjamin Zander -- he does not hate music. And yet music per se is not his message. Music is a means to a deeper message for him -- that we live together, sharing the same hopes and heartaches, in a realm of remarkable possibilities. But to achieve this state of mind -- generous, joyful, and young at heart -- one has to be a little at war with the world. Just as Jim Loehr talked about "expedient adaptation," the comfortable and conformist position that the best way through life is the easiest way, Ben Zander described the normal point of view in the world as one of downward spirals -- the conventional wisdom that is invariably negative and pessimistic. Loehr also used the epigram, "If you're on the edge, you're taking up space." Being on the edge, of course, is critical to one-buttock piano-playing. That awful voice Masters Forum oldtimers may remember the talk given five years ago by Martin Seligman, on "Learned Optimism," in which he told us that a pessimistic outlook is the leading predictor of depression and failure. That talk has many points in common with the message of Maestro Zander. The downward spiral is apparent everywhere we turn -- the negativity of the nightly news, the dismal attitude that prevails at the workplace, the feeling we all have that being positive is somehow not respectable. Zander's talk was all show-and-tell. He drew the classic "nine dots" trick on a pad. How, he asked, can we connect the nine dots with only four lines? Thinking of the nine dots as a box, the problem is unsolvable. Thinking "outside the box," however, the solution is simple: The box we dwell in is the box of the downward spiral, the dismal treadmill Why do kids skip? he asked. Why does a four year old waddle up to a stranger and cry out, Hello! Why do you never see people skipping on Wall Street? The answer is that adults have forgotten the rhythm of transformation, and succumbed to the lazy cynicism of the downward spiral. We are all the victims of The Voice, that nagging, awful voice we hear inside our heads all day, every day, telling us we're stupid, we're wrong, and we're going to get caught. Zander said reminding us of that rhythm, and urging us to ignore that awful interior voice, is his job. That rhythm is pure manic energy, he said, pointing out that the time signature of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is 180 beats per minute. Zander played a few bars -- we expect the familiar leitmotif to be grand, because no one plays it the crazy way Beethoven directed; we don't expect it to run fast as a cheetah. An A for everyone Ever wonder why people don't respond better to your overtures? Maybe it's because you haven't given them an A in advance. In his composition class in Boston he gives every student an A -- provided they write him a letter describing who they will become by the end of the course. It's surprising how much learning people can do when they know grades don't matter, and they've sent The Voice to stand in the corner. And you can giver anyone an A -- your boss, your colleagues, your mother. The Israelis can give Arabs straight A's and vice versa -- who's to say how that might affect the dialog? You might think it is nice to be a musician in an orchestra. But according to one poll, musicians ranked below prison guards in job satisfaction. Why? Perhaps too many conductors are Arturo Toscaninis -- temperamental potentates who make musicians' lives miserable for the fun of it. (Toscanini once fired a musician with 25 years of playing with the orchestra. Before the musician left the hall, he shouted out, "Toscanini, you son of a bitch!" Toscanini called out after him, "It's too late to apologize!") Having said that, what kind of conductor is Zander? He invited a former student, Katja Linfield, now with the Minnesota Orchestra, to practice a bit of a Bach cello piece. Her first efforts sounded great to the audience. But Zander, moving all around her, offering suggestions, asking questions ("Which sounds better?") and compelling her to improve the phrasing, right on stage. Within three minutes the Bach was incredible, swinging and rhythmic and strong. Then he did the same with a quarter Katja had assembled on an ad hoc basis, composed of herself, violist Kerri Ryan, second violinist David Wright and concertmaster Stephanie Arado. Zander joked, teased, sweet-talked and cajoled each of the musicians in turn -- even mussing up their hair -- until they too were feeling the feelings Mozart embedded in the notes ("weeping, crying") and the music improved 500% before our very ears. If you are at all interested in teams and teamwork, you had to find this demonstration. Masters Forum members quizzed the musicians afterward, and all agreed that they had experienced more freedom and joy in the music than they knew they could feel while playing. Why? Because Zander had given them an A in advance. This did not prohibit Zander from offering suggestions -- indeed, it made the suggestions welcome. "A conductor," he mused, "is the only person in the orchestra not allowed to make noise." His job, or her job, is to give other people the power to make music. And before every concert he attaches a sheet of white paper to every musician's stand, to fill in with any thought about how to make the music more engaging, more -- wonderful. We sang Zander made many jokes about people's unwillingness to join in, calling people down from the balcony, and calling them down again from the back rows, until we were all close to him. And one very touching moment was when the quartet was playing the sweet-sad Mozart piece, and Zander ran up and down the center aisle pointing to members in their seats, explaining why the music mattered to each one -- connecting the musicians to the audience, their artistry to our emotions. He spoke of the beauty of the shining face, that we are at our very best when we feel our feelings, and join with one another to express a poisitive thought. He led the entire 900- person audience in a "Happy Birthday" serenade to a member whose birthday it was. And he made us sing it like we meant it, as if we really did wish him and his whole life well. we phrased, we gesticulated, we sang. This paragraph can not describe how moving it was to realize we could do this. Nor did Maestro Zander know that Minnesota audiences have to overcome an even greater natural reluctance to emote publically. We concluded with the great choral anthem from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, composed when he was stone deaf (not tone deaf, which Zander says is as impossible). The words are a poem by Friedrich Schiller, "Ode to Joy." Done badly, as might be expected from a houseful of corporate managers, this song has the potential to be majorly embarrassing. And our first rendition, and our second, were none too good. But by our third effort, we sounded pretty good. Read the words below, imagine them sung by a heavenly choir of 100,000 ecstatic angels, and ponder whether they could possibly mean what they appear to mean. It is a song of unspeakable delight at the simple fact of being part of creation, and embracing open-heartedly the opportunity to sing. And that was the message that Benjamin Zander brought us that cold December day. MICHAEL FINLEY Ode to Joy By Friedrich von Schiller Joy, thou beauteous godly lightning, Daughter of Elysium, Fire drunken we are ent'ring Heavenly, thy holy home! Thy enchantments bind together, What did custom's sword divide, Beggars are a prince's brother, Where thy gentle wings abide. Be embrac'd, ye millions yonder! Take this kiss throughout the world! Brothers--o'er the stars unfurl'd Must reside a loving father. Who the noble prize achieveth, Good friend of a friend to be; Who a lovely wife attaineth, Join us in his jubilee! Yes--he too who but one being On this earth can call his own! He who ne'er was able, weeping Stealeth from this league alone! He who in the great ring dwelleth, Homage pays to sympathy! To the stars above leads she, Where on high the Unknown reigneth. Joy is drunk by every being From kind nature's flowing breasts, Every evil, every good thing For her rosy footprint quests. Gave she us both wines and kisses, In the face of death, a friend, To the worm were given blisses And the Cherubs God attend. Fall before him, all ye millions? Know'st thou the Creator, world? Seek above the stars unfurl'd, Yonder dwells He in the heavens. Joy commands the hardy mainspring Of the universe eterne. Joy, oh joy the wheel is driving Which the worlds' great clock doth turn. Flowers from the buds she coaxes, Suns from out the hyaline, Spheres she rotates through expanses, Which the seer can't divine. As the suns are flying, happy Through the heaven's glorious plane, Travel, brothers, down your lane, Joyful as in hero's vict'ry. From the truth's own fiery mirror On the searcher doth she smile. Up the steep incline of honor Guideth she the suff'rer's mile. High upon faith's sunlit mountains One can see her banner flies, Through the breach of open'd coffins She in angel's choir doth rise. Suffer on courageous millions! Suffer for a better world! O'er the tent of stars unfurl'd God rewards you from the heavens. Gods can never be requited, Beauteous 'tis, their like to be. Grief and want shall be reported, So to cheer with gaiety. Hate and vengeance be forgotten, Pardon'd be our mortal foe Not a teardrop shall him dampen, No repentance bring him low. Let our book of debts be cancell'd! Reconcile the total world! Brothers--o'er the stars unfurl'd God doth judge, as we have settl'd. Joy doth bubble from this rummer, From the golden blood of grape Cannibals imbibe good temper, Weak of heart their courage take- Brothers, fly up from thy places, When the brimming cup doth pass, Let the foam shoot up in spaces: To the goodly Soul this glass! Whom the crown of stars doth honor, Whom the hymns of Seraphs bless, To the goodly Soul this glass O'er the tent of stars up yonder! Courage firm in grievous trial, Help, where innocence doth scream, Oaths which sworn to are eternal, Truth to friend and foe the same, Manly pride 'fore kingly power- Brothers, cost it life and blood,- Honor to whom merits honor, Ruin to the lying brood! Closer draw the holy circle, Swear it by this golden wine, Faithful to the vow divine, Swear it by the Judge celestial! Rescue from the tyrant's fetters, Mercy to the villain e'en, Hope within the dying hours, Pardon at the guillotine! E'en the dead shall live in heaven! Brothers, drink and all agree, Every sin shall be forgiven, Hell forever cease to be. A serene departing hour! Pleasant sleep beneath the pall! Brothers--gentle words for all Doth the Judge of mortals utter!