“The ideal combination would be to play with thinking and intelligent feeling .” –Marcel Tabuteau
This summer I have been revisiting the book Sound in Motion by David McGill. McGill, who served as principal bassoonist of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for seventeen years, wrote the book using the ideas of Marcel Tabuteau as a starting point. Tabuteau (1887-1966) was principal oboist of the Philadelphia Orchestra from 1915 to 1954, and taught at the Curtis Institute of Music for thirty years. His playing was foundational in the development of a distinctly American oboe sound, and his teaching influenced multiple generations of Curtis students (and their students). Part of Tabuteau’s legacy is his approach to teaching and implementing ideas related to musical phrasing.
McGill writes that “The roots of a rationalized system of musical phrasing” can be traced back to Tabuteau (7). The word “rationalized” is key in this explanation–Tabuteau’s methodology was based on a logical system of phrasing rooted in musical analysis. His teaching explored the function and purpose of each individual note toward the goal of achieving forward motion in music. His implementation of this system of phrasing yielded performances that brought the music to life. According to McGill, “…he defined the natural in music. His phrasing existed in harmony with the music’s structure and his teaching explained how to achieve this result (7).”
In an early chapter in the book, McGill discusses the misunderstandings surrounding the idea of feeling in relation to making music. Emotions have, of course, long been associated with music both from the perspective of the audience and that of the performer. In some cases, the audience perceives a connection with the performer, and may even feel that the performer has transmitted the emotions of a musical work to them. Almost all great performances are discussed in terms of their emotional effect on the listener.
But McGill makes the point that emotions are not always helpful to the performer. If you rely on feeling to make music, then what happens on a day when you aren’t feeling well for some reason? Moreover, many professional musicians are regularly contracted to perform music not of their own choosing–music with which they may have no emotional connection (polka, anyone?). How can you give a great performance if you don’t love the music? What if you don’t feel anything in particular about the music?
McGill’s (and Tabuteau’s) answer is that the musician must seek a measure of separation from a subjective state of mind. “Professional musicians are not paid to simply feel the music in public act of exhibitionism and then, by virtue of this, to mesmerize the audience into feeling exactly the same way (17).” While emotion may be present both in the performer and in the audience, it is not the feeling but the thought behind a performance that makes it great. Tabuteau was in favor of this approach, saying that his goal was “to play as I think.” He further remarked that “the ideal combination would be to play with thinking and intelligent feeling (17).” In short, a performer’s feelings should be tempered by their intellect. Tabuteau’s system of musical phrasing was built around thoughtful analysis of the music itself rather than an emotional response to it.
In the Practice Room
It struck me while reading this that McGill and Tabuteau were both voicing an idea central to the practice of mindfulness. We are always searching for wise mind: the balance between the emotional mind and the rational mind. We need access to our emotions, but it is not helpful for us to be overwhelmed by them. We also need rational thought to guide us, but only combination with our unique emotional responses. I began to reflect on how these two sides of my mind are engaged not only by the act of performing, but also by the act of practicing. The emotions that I experience while performing can be markedly different from the emotions (or lack thereof) that I experience during the hundreds of hours I spend methodically preparing for performance in the practice room.
The question posed above (what happens to a feeling-based performance if you’re not feeling well?) applies doubly to time in the practice room. If we rely on feeling to perform, then shouldn’t that same feeling be present in the practice room? Any musician knows that this is a laughable proposition. Feelings change from day to day, hour to hour, and minute to minute. Even what we feel about a certain musical work will change and progress as we learn and internalize it. This is why Tabuteau’s concept of musical phrasing based on rational analysis makes so much sense to me. It is a way to establish a truly consistent approach to shaping the music we perform.
Mindfulness does not teach us to ignore, push away, or deny our feelings. Instead, it teaches us to acknowledge what or how we feel in any given moment, and then to move on. This is a necessary skill in the practice room. Because we are engaged in the high-risk endeavor of learning and performing music at the professional level, we may feel any number of emotions around a piece of music on any particular day: elation, frustration, fear, and contentment are all typical in the practice room. Mindfulness instructs us to accept our emotions and make music anyway. A McGill/Tabuteau-inspired approach to building a piece of music, phrase by phrase based on its unique structure, can be a helpful tool in achieving the balance of a wise mind in the practice room.
**McGill, David. Sound in Motion: A Performer’s Guide to Greater Musical Expression. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2007.