by Jeffrey Bell-Hanson

A few weeks ago I heard an interview on NPR with a novelist who had struggled in his writing with the tension between living in the moment and being concerned with one’s legacy. As I listened it occurred to me that we live in a world largely populated by beings for whom existence is almost wholly defined by surfing on the razor edge of the present moment. Among them, we humans are the most likely to be capable of seeing beyond the confines of now, though, as this author noted, only with some struggle.

As a conductor I am professionally consumed by a concern for the quality of the preparatory gesture. When something doesn’t go as planned, it is inevitable that I look to the moment just before to understand why. Any effect that I hope to have on the quality of a musical event has to be shaped in that prior moment. Yet it is only the sound which follows the preparation that embodies the significance that I intend. That is where my action comes to fruition for those to whom it is directed, including myself. For I am both the initiator and a receptor. I am a member of my own audience as much as I am a performer.

There are two points of interest to mention here that seem to parallel the tension about which the author spoke. One is the ephemeral nature of music. More than any other art form it illustrates an important truth about the way all creatures experience existence – one moment at a time. We live our lives looking through a small window—a pinhole really—through which we see only what can be seen right now. Past experience gives us some framework for understanding this moment, but its relevance can quickly fade as each new present comes and goes. And as we experience each moment, it can radically alter our perception of moments past.

Second, the conductor’s field of action is always ahead of the events in the musical present. Each gesture is made in a more or less rhythmic relationship to a musical event, as if it were in real time, but is actually slightly ahead of the arc of the music. Further, since those who actually produce the sound also have considerable agency in shaping the character of the music, there is necessarily an aspect of dialog between them and the conductor, but one that takes place at a pace that is defined in a quite different way than a dialog of words. The listeners also take part in this dialog, effectively extending the duration of each moment by the amount of time it takes them to perceive and apprehend the significance of an event. For all of us in that chain, that significance evolves with each passing moment.

There are different layers of preparation for the conductor, each occurring over a different period of time. From the moment of the gesture that initiates the sound, to the planning of a specific rehearsal, to the studying of a score, the training with a mentor, all the way to the initial experiences with music as a child. All of them will have some affect on the sound that comes out of the orchestra. But nothing matters quite so much as that gesture just before the sound.

Music effectively pries open our pinhole view of the present moment just a little, allowing us to contemplate and savor it with its deep connections to, or startling discontinuities with past and future. Ironically, the ability to evoke a sense of the divine, other worldly and eternal has often been claimed as its most important attribute. Even so, because it is so transitory, more than any other art form it engages us in a way that suits the primal now of our animal nature.