When does youthful vigour become
part of the daily grind? Photograph:
Garry Weaser
What happens to orchestral musicians between the ages of, say, 18 and 25? Does their enthusiasm and zeal get ritually blotted out?
The first concert of the National Youth Orchestra's year, after just a week of rehearsals, was heroic. These kids, as they crackled and fizzed their way through a programme of Rachmaninov, Vaughan Williams and Tchaikovsky at Croydon's Fairfield Hall, were straining with commitment and ardour. They made eye contact with one another; desk partners flashed each other quick grins from the sheer thrill of playing. When they were applauded, they politely acknowledged the audience. They were glowing with smiles and pride.
What a contrast to a professional symphony orchestra. I suppose it's not easy to radiate enthusiasm when you are doing what is, in the end, just a job. A job that, despite its apparent glamour, brings with it all the frustrations and annoyances of any other trade, plus the no doubt uniquely irritating fact of having to work with conductors who are quite frequently lesser musicians than you are. Not to mention anti-social working hours, long periods on the road, the repetitiveness of the standard repertoire and often little outlet, especially for those in the rank and file of a string section, for much that could be regarded as truly creative.
Still, it can be a little depressing for the punter when an orchestra plays a wonderful concert and then, as the audience vigorously responds, the musicians simply stare blankly and gloomily into the distance as if they have been engaged in nothing more exciting than a shift at a canning factory. At least they could pretend that they've got something out of the experience - even if the sort of genuine excitement that the kids in the NYO display might be long gone for the jobbing musician.
