Discarding the Fourth Wall of Classical Music


This summer I’ve been taking a break from my own musicking and taking in other people’s performances and compositions. One concert oddity keeps coming up: the fourth wall.

You may well know the scenario. You arrive early to a concert with high expectations only to be kept in the lobby because the orchestra is “still rehearsing.” Then you’re allowed into the hall only to be subjected to the furious chaos of musicians practicing away, cramming for an event moments away.



The anticipation of an exquisite evening of live music shatters under the cacophony.

Imagine for a moment – you excitedly arrive at a venue for a dance production, but are held in the lobby while “the troupe is stilling practicing.” Once inside you witness a pair of dancers still on stage as they practice a tricky lift, another dancer repeatedly leaps across the stage trying to ace a difficult leap, and yet another couple rehearses their pas a deux.  Absurd! I’d certainly want my money back!

Or – imagine a theater company “still rehearsing”. And while you sit reading the program notes actors practice lines - all at the same time, at that! – on stage, in their own little world, pretending there’s no audience in the room. Absurd and rude!

Classical music seems the only performance art that refuses to accept that music is performed on a stage – a place with unique responsibilities and demands.

The stage is somewhere other than the practice room, greenroom, workshop, or studio. The stage is both a place and an experience between performer and audience. The theater world knows there is no fourth wall between the actors and the audience. (There may be a fourth wall between the characters and the audience, but everyone knows there is no wall.) Classical musicians, however, remain convinced of the fourth wall between them and their audience. Many traditional behaviors even reinforce this point to the audience.

For example, besides the practicing on stage, the first entrances on stage by musicians are usually casual, with attention given to equipment, seating arrangements, music stands, page turns, etc. rather than the audience. Then the musicians’ awareness is directed to a few notes that the musicians play between themselves, for themselves, in that traditional tuning routine. When the conductor appears on stage, the musicians stand – for the conductor rather than the audience! By now, before a note of the musical program has been played, the audience has accepted the idea that the players are indeed behind a fourth wall.

Once the wall’s presence is mutually accepted, it is there for the course of the event. Later, when it comes time for the audience to offer applause from the house, it is directed toward those performers who have remained in front of the wall -  a soloist, conductor, or perhaps composer. Considering the fact that applause is something an audience needs to do, we put an unfortunate damper on their needs very quickly, within the first few moments of a concert.

I can hardly blame musicians for this behavior when I consider the historical context of classical music performance. Musicians have often been an invisible workforce. Either they were considered the anonymous doer who should only be heard or they provided the back drop for a star conductor or soloist. For the most part, musicians could create, or were forced to create, a fourth wall and pretend the audience wasn’t watching or listening because the real show began when the maestro, diva, or virtuoso star entered.

As a conductor in the 21st century, I’d prefer to give musicians an honest stage where they may create a fully-acknowledged relationship with their audience.

One group, St. Martin-in-the Fields treats the stage as a special performance space, and the effect sweeps you into the spell of their music. Pre-concert, the stage is set-up, half-lit and empty of musicians. Everything suggests. The silence and stillness begs for sounds and movement. Then, at “curtain time” out rush the musicians from all sides of the stage, walking swiftly to their place, where they remain standing. They immediately acknowledge the audience’s presence. Then they sit – and bang – the exhilarating wow! of live music fills the room. The pacing is especially effective. Notice the lack of hand-shake and bowing ceremonies. Relegating the tuning process to backstage also prevents the creation of a fourth wall.

The more we keep the stage about the relationship between performer and audience, the more magical.

At a recent concert I sat with a friend, a retired lawyer who frequently attends music, arts, and theater events. During intermission – while the stage was a buzz with string players tackling fast passages, the proverbial trumpet player repeating that one phrase with a large leap, some winds doing fast tonguing passages - I asked him what he thought about this pre-performance noise. His comments were stronger than I expected. “I’ve always wondered why we must be subjected to such crud before we can hear the program. I come to a performance hyped up for ‘on with the show!’ This is just crud.“

Today’s audiences are seeking an experience of live music which engages them with the events and the people on stage. That is – a stage where players and audience fully acknowledge each other’s presence. From here, perhaps we can create a live-music experience that is “worthwhile, unique, and essential” - the goal of live performance as James B. Nicola remarks in Playing the Audience: the Practical Actor’s Guide to Live Performance.

We could learn much from the theater world in regards to the ‘contract with the audience.’ Classical music/musicians seem to relish their distance from the audience. Perhaps this attitude sufficed under a Toscanini or Stokowski with the dazzling spotlight on the conductor. But today’s performers are artists of live music. Let’s give them three walls and a stage worthy of their art.


Debriefings on Recent Jury Duty

Jury duty is a unique experience. The premise is ‘getting it right.’
The task is neither governed by the clock (it’s 4 o’clock - I’m done, time to go home!) nor by just getting it ‘done.’ (it’s off my desk!)

Here the goal is to get it right - just and fair.

‘Getting it right’ entails listening, thinking, seeing more than one side, holding an open mind, and questioning.

Privately grappling with matters of rightness and being human.

There is no answer key to supply a conclusion.

Jury duty is a duty, rather than a hobby.

Our actions carry a burden of responsibility and importance that goes beyond us.

The task touches people’s lives.

We are aware of the heightened obligation and fully commit our time, skills and energy to ‘getting it right.’

The task garners $17.20 per day.

Thus jury duty means committing to the obligation of ‘getting it right;’ accepting the weight of the endeavor, wrestling in seclusion over questions of truth and human-ness – all while receiving a meager reward.

It is no wonder people prefer to avoid jury duty. What person would embrace such a life?

We’re called artists. 

When Perfection Paralyzes

I’ve worked with musicians of various stripes in their endeavors to prepare artistically for a performance. As an artistic coach and conductor I have found there are usually three types of preparation styles that musicians use to develop their performance concepts of a work.

The first type of player looks to others for answers to How does the piece go? What is the right way to play this piece? The outside source is usually an esteemed teacher whose words are treated as absolute and right. This performer seeks to perpetuate at the best of their ability, the way that was passed down to them in a sort of pedigree approach.

This style, then, is pre-occupied with producing sounds in close replica of an external model. The player competes internally with their own skills to come closer to the teacher’s example. This model is typical for young players and provides a good launch site for developing a sense of musicianship.

However, a player stuck in this mode, unable or unwilling to develop personal music maturity, will often come to a coaching session seeking confirmation that their teacher/ideal model continues to be right. They are usually unwilling to absorb new possibilities and can even become hostile if their idol’s methods are questioned. If a musician continues in the servitude of this external ideal, the romance may eventually wear off. Unfortunately without the skills to develop personal musicianship, the player often becomes unfulfilled and disgruntled.

(Consider this instance from a rehearsal of the Dvorak cello concerto. When I asked for confirmation that the soloist did indeed want to move aggressively ahead at the point in the score where Dvorak writes dolce. The surprising reply was, “Hmm, I’m not sure, I need to listen to X’s recording again.” This, from a player who had just graduated from a top school with a doctorate degree in music performance! I’m tempted to suggest that the longer one remains in school the more committed the player becomes to this ‘pedigree’ style of musicianship. It does bring success in that environment!)

The second type of player wrestles with a piece, looking for answers to artistic questions from within.
The ‘right way’ of performing will be one that is genuine and true to the self and the music. They see their role as a creative artist, rather than a reproducer. Their competitive drive is towards developing musical depth. These types of musicians are very pro-active and are usually artistically satisfied. This player also knows that no one else is exactly like them; as a unique artist they feel no rivalry towards other players.

(This musician is an absolute pleasure to coach as everything becomes grist for their artistic mill.
Note that this musician will find working under mediocre conductors - who keep them on a tight leash - justifiably torturous!)

The third type seeks to execute a ‘right way’ of performance which is neither based on what another person offers as a roadmap , nor what is discovered or created from within. This musician strives to play a piece perfectly. Perfection - as defined by some vague cosmic, super-human ideal.

This third style incorporates one striking aspect. Whereas both the ‘do as the teacher says’ reproducer and the ‘I will dig deep and discover’ creator are following the respective routes out of a desire to communicate and connect with a listener, the perfectionist’s style is concerned solely with their own achievements. The listener remains outside the artistic equation as the artistic goal is to prove one’s ability to attain perfection to oneself.

I see a familiar analogy of this mindset in the Olympic athlete whose goal of acing a perfect ten or nailing a triple jump fulfills the performer’s own desire; the audience is only an observer or witness. Performance art, however, includes the audience in the goal. Actors, for example, judge their ‘rightness’ or the value of a performance on Did I get them? Did I connect to the audience? Did I move them? The value received by the audience is a priority. A perfectly spoken, paced, and acted scene has no meaning and no value if nobody ‘got it.’

To perform on stage in front of listeners and present art in a manner of an Olympic athlete is stingy. One can admire a player’s intense drive to continually improve, but when the listener is removed from the equation, this behavior become self-gratifying and conceited. For a musician who touts having high standards and a relentless - even heroic - drive for being perfect, it can be a crushing blow to realize how perfection can cripple one’s art.

When a player is stuck in this mode, perfection paralyzes artistic development. Only note-production remains. Such players tend to approach a piece as an engineer would, seeking the one correct way, exacting the notated data, calculating the required technique, refining the logistics; counting, measuring, redesigning.

So how do you coach a perfectionist? I try to re-frame the drive for perfection to a drive for excellence; artistic, communicative excellence. When perfection paralyzes, the artist becomes pre-occupied with inner-dialogues related to technique, the bits of music which are measurable, countable, and tangible to the ear. So my comments direct the player to consider the listener’s version of the event, something much more difficult to grasp. I try to redirect their concern of “Was it perfect?” to include the audience’s needs and help players develop the skills to understand “Did it work?” This may require a frank discussion about music-making and the role of the performer. (Most perfection-driven players will resist re-direction because it goes against their way of approaching music – and, I suspect, way of life, too. In such cases, I respect their human-spirit and offer to be a neutral ‘third ear’ in their endeavors.)

When the drive for perfection dominates a performer’s mind set, music loses heart, poetry, and depth. Surprisingly, if not tragically, I have worked with musicians who are unable to grasp the poetic, metaphoric side of music. Notes are just notes. They tend to be well-programmed, extremely sensitive and finessed machines with acute ears, but lack a sensibility as to how sounds might relate to qualities other than what is scored on the paper. They can realize the composer’s blue print with precision and ease, yet the concept of conveying meaning is foreign. Perfection paralyzes the soul and chills the muse.

(A player with this type of artistic preparation usually finds a niche in modern repertoire where a correct performance tends to require a literal reproduction of the notated instructions. The more technical challenges a piece offers, the more satisfying the preparation process and final performance.)

What causes some players to pursue perfection rather than artful performance remains unclear to me. I’m hardly qualified to speculate, either. However, what is most concerning is the player’s detachment from their audience. Musicianship differs from a sport that awards medals we take home around our neck. Rather the artist sets out to win the sort of medals which every audience member takes home and carries with them forever.