People made fun of me when I first got it because it’s so bloody huge, but I use a Samsung Galaxy Note II to draw the stage diagrams I send to the crew that sets everything up for us. This afternoon we’re performing Leonard Bernstein’s score to the film “On the Waterfront,” and I’m personally playing snare drum, three toms, xylophone, bells, vibraphone and marimba. If the stage is not set up the right way, you get percussionists crossing paths and running into each other. I used to draw a diagram with pen and paper and take a picture of it, but the Note is really handy.
A lot of my gear doesn’t come from the music store. All of my triangle holders, for example, are made from bent coat hangers. My chime hammers are yellow acrylic mallets that I get at the hardware store—I don’t even know what craftsmen use them for. And fishing line is a must-have. Sometimes, a score calls for key chimes instead of wind chimes, so I’ll round up everyone’s old keys and string them up with fishing line.
I travel with Drummers Service Abel Concert snare drumsticks, which I never, ever, ever check at the airport. They go with my laptop as a carry-on. The three pairs I have were made by Bill Reamer [owner of Drummers Service], who passed away, so they’ll have to last me my whole career.
I’m protective of my own gear, because I tend to humanize inanimate objects. I got my Black Swamp tambourine in 1999, when I was an undergrad at the University of British Columbia. I’ve spent so many hours with it. I know it. I just have this relationship and I know what it’s going to do.
We had a BMW growing up and it saved our lives when we got into a huge accident once, so I love my 2008 BMW 335xi, even though I don’t drive it that much. I’m quite sensitive to sound, so I don’t actually listen to a lot of music in the car. I listen to the sound of the engine or NPR.

I still own a metronome, but I don’t use it much because you have to find a 9-volt battery or practice by an outlet to plug it in. These days I just use whatever metronome app I can get free on my phone. Right now, that’s one called Metronome Beats. 
My mother was a great cook, and so was her mom, so I learned by watching them. I use a Zojirushi Neuro Fuzzy rice cooker. When I was growing up, everybody had a rice cooker. I’ve never seen it made any other way.

Read the article on the Wall Street Journal's Website at wsj.com.

by Christine Watkins, Illinois Library Association
Reprinted with permission from the ILA Reporter, June  2015, published by the Illinois Library Association

The Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO) Music Library is literally underneath the stage, tucked away on the lower level of Orchestra Hall at Symphony Center on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue. All those notes that you hear soaring and wafting their way to your place in the audience start out as little black marks on cream-colored paper, stored on the library shelves. Thousands of musical scores as well as the separate parts for each individual instrument are organized by composer. When the next season is announced, the orchestra librarians review the holdings to see what they already own, which scores and parts they may need to buy or rent from music publishers.

But if you think there’s nothing more to it than to take the music off the shelves and deliver it to the music stands upstairs, you’re mistaken. There’s a lot to learn about the role of orchestral librarians—they are not, in fact, librarians in the typical sense of the term. They do not hold library degrees, and they are not even very similar to what we would think of as a “music” librarian, someone who manages a collection that includes books, recordings, and any number of things related to the study of music, as well as performance.

KEEPING SCORE

They are, in short, the keepers of the score, which goes far beyond just making sure the orchestra has the right ones on hand. The scores—and parts—are carefully reviewed for any errors in notation: a wrong note, a missing measure, or mark of some sort. The review—a kind of proofreading—includes comparing the parts to the score, to make sure nothing’s been lost. And after review, there’s a kind of copy-editing—marking up the parts for things like when the strings move their bows up or down or when to turn the page, so everything happens in unison, seemingly without effort.

The librarians attend rehearsal, and make note of anything that might need their attention. Rehearsal time is precious, and the goal is to make sure the music is clearly marked ahead of time. Peter Conover, one of three CSO librarians, sums it up: “Our expertise involves the preparation of materials for use in performance.

Although we are called librarians, in truth we are really more musicians. Most of us trained as performing musicians, and since there are relatively few opportunities to formally train as an orchestra librarian, internships or apprenticeships have traditionally been the way we’ve learned our skills.”

This is where MOLA—the Major Orchestra Librarians Association—can come in handy. Founded in 1893, it has grown from an organization of about twenty-five orchestra librarians located mostly on the east coast of the United States to a membership of more than 270 institutions from around the world. In addition to being a forum for experienced orchestra librarians, it can also be a resource for musicians who end up with responsibilities for managing the music, so to speak, with little or no experience.
Conover was a conservatory-trained bass player in an east coast orchestra, and got his start because the orchestra was willing to pay him an extra $50 per performance to mark up the music. He came to find the work interesting and rewarding, and somewhere along the line, made a career choice that led him to orchestras in Arizona and Texas before coming to Chicago in 1998. His colleagues, Mark Swanson and Carole Keller, came by slightly different routes, though both are trained musicians. Swanson started out playing trombone, moved into arranging and copying music, and free-lanced his way to becoming a CSO librarian. Keller studied the cello and worked in the library of her college orchestra and after graduation got a job in the box office of the Minnesota Orchestra. When she heard there was an opening in the library, she jumped at the chance, and her college experience paid off. She moved on to become principal librarian for the National Arts Centre Orchestra in Ottawa, Canada, then joined the CSO in 2000.

EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE

One thing orchestra librarians have in common with the rest of the profession is a penchant for organization. Scores and parts are moved from the “general collection” to a series of shelves for the current season. Then as the performance approaches, the parts are marked and broken up into individual folders for each player. Those folders move to another shelving area, ready to be taken to the stage each night and placed on the music stands, first for rehearsals of that week’s program, then eventually for each performance.

Another is attention to detail, and patron preferences. Music for cellists, for example, may need to be slightly enlarged, because they are further away from their music stands than other players. Some musicians may want their parts scanned and sent to them electronically for practice. When asked the most important part of their job, a response on the MOLA website reads: “To have the right music in the right place at the right time.”

There are no fines for unreturned music, but it rarely disappears. The orchestra members know it’s in their own best interests for the music to be held in the library. As far as the decision to rent or buy, it depends on a number of factors. Works in the public domain, which include a large part of the classical repertoire, are likely to be purchased. For works with current copyright restrictions, especially those that may be performed rarely or infrequently, renting from the publisher may be the only choice.

The collection doesn’t circulate, but besides traveling up to the stage at Symphony Center and some miles north for the orchestra’s summer season at Ravinia, it does go on tour. Along with all the pieces scheduled for the tour, the librarians are in charge of deciding what else should come along—anthems for countries they’re visiting, repertoire that’s appropriate if there’s a tragedy or death that occurs on the day of the concert, and a selection of encores, which can be unpredictable.
​
“Maestro Barenboim was challenging when it came to encores, he might ask for almost anything!” said Conover. “We were on tour in 2001 when the World Trade Center was hit,” adds Keller. “We had no idea what—or even if—we were going to play that night. We eventually did, but we added the Star-Spangled Banner at the beginning of the performance.”
 
In general, e-music doesn’t seem to have become as prevalent as e-books. Some smaller ensembles use or experiment with “electronic music stands,” but they are far from the norm for major orchestras. The complexity of the music, the number of players, the consequences of a glitch, and to some extent, the age of the players, all contribute to a strong preference for paper. “Paper is infallible and hard to improve on,” says Conover.

When I first joined the CSO, I sought out role models among the veteran musicians.  I had never played in a major orchestra and I needed to learn how to fit in.  One man I found myself gravitating towards was a fellow violist, Don Evans.  Don had joined the orchestra in 1948.  Don’s father Clarence had been Principal Viola back in the 1920s and 30s, and his wife Margie was in the cello section.  Don and Margie had been childhood sweethearts and they lived in the Winnetka house where Margie had grown up.
 
I was drawn to Don by his combination of professionalism, calm, and a marvelous dry-as-dust sense of humor.  It must be said, though, that I fell a bit short of my model from time to time.  Early on, I said or did something that struck Don as a bit out of line.  I can’t recall my infraction, but there is no denying that I was something of a young punk back then.  Don looked at me in his serene, cool, affectionate way and told me, “You’re lucky I like you so much or else I would tell you what I think of you.”
 
We had one other significant bond—baseball.  I was born in Detroit and am still a passionate fan of the Detroit Tigers.  Don’s ties to the Chicago Cubs were at least as deep.  He had grown up near Wrigley Field and spent innumerable afternoons there throughout his life.  His father had taken him to the third game of the 1932 World Series, when, legend has it, Babe Ruth pointed his bat at the center field bleachers and, on the next pitch, hit his famous “called shot” home run there, an iconic moment in baseball history.
 
A few years later, Don attended another World Series game, another debacle for the Cubs.  It was 1935, and the Cubs were up against my Detroit Tigers.  It was fated to be the first Series the Tigers ever won.  Don attended the third game, a typically heartbreaking Cubs loss—they succumbed in the 11th inning on an error by their third baseman.  Like any real fan, Don bought a scorecard and kept score, notating how every batter fared over the course of the game.  More than half a century later, shortly before leaving the orchestra, he gave this scorecard to me. 

I cherish it to this day.  The now 80-year-old document is a fascinating time capsule, featuring the old four-color printing technique depicting Wrigley Field at the time. There was no ivy and no left field stands, but trees lined the perimeter beyond the outfield.  Several pages show photos of the players on both teams, and it is remarkable to see how much older these young athletes looked at the height of the Depression than men of the same age today. I love the notices for items like Prima Pilsner, Green River, and Edelweiss Orange Soda “For Sale in this Park”.
 
Most of all, I pore over Don’s penciled notations, batter by batter, right up to the 11th inning denouement.  Yet as much as I treasure this relic, it is by no means the most important thing Don gave me.  I may not live up to my mentor, but I strive to be as good a colleague as I can, and hope that I may in some small way offer something for my younger colleagues to emulate.

The picture of me standing beside a replica of a Ford Model “T” was my next project, a ratchet for our former composer-in-residence Mason Bates’ work “Alternative Energy.” In the movement of the work titled “In Fords Garden” a number of car parts are struck and a ratchet part is needed, which was incorporated by having the starter crank in the front radiator part of a Model “T” be the operating crank for a very loud ratchet. It was fun making a replica of a Model “T” that looked like it actually came from the car itself and fulfilled the need for a very powerful ratchet that was a thematic part of the work.

The final instrument pictured that I have designed and made is a “wind machine”, which I made at the request of CSO principal percussionist Cynthia Yeh, for the performance of Maurice Ravel’s “L’Enfant et les Sortilèges” this past May, and was also used in our performance of Wagner’s “The Flying Dutchman” this month at the Ravinia Festival. This instrument produces a sound like wind by rotating a number of specially designed wooden slats past some very heavy cotton duck material by a cranked circular barrel type construction. Similar wind machines have been used since the baroque musical era for sound effects in baroque operas,
 
One would think that a better sound could be had in modern times by simply recording wind sounds, but the resulting recording would have to be played over an amplified sound system with loudspeakers which would not have the sonic impact that the analog, mechanical device like a wind machine has. Many other sound effects similar in concept are still used in motion pictures and are called “Foley Effects” after the person who first invented them.

It has been 43 years since I won the audition for my position in the CSO bass section. It was truly a life changing event for me and even after all these years, I still have memories of that audition process.
 
Just as I did, every Member of the CSO must secure their position in the CSO through the competitive, anonymous audition procedure the CSO uses to select new players. The procedure in use now is the same as was used all those years ago when I auditioned. In fact, the procedure was fairly new then and the CSO was one of the first major orchestras to institute this type of anonymous, competitive audition procedure. Virtually all U.S. orchestras now use this impartial procedure and the CSO is foremost in allowing anyone to audition with no judgments about who will be allowed to audition.
 
When a position becomes open in the orchestra, the audition for that opening is advertised in the union paper. Then, those who wish to audition contact the CSO personnel office and schedule an audition date. When the candidate arrives for the audition, their anonymity is preserved by assigning them to a warm up room in a separate area and being a assigned a number which is their only identification to the Audition Committee.
 
The Audition Committee, which judges the candidates who audition, is made up of seven elected Members of the orchestra, the section leader of the section in which the opening exists and one Member assigned by the Orchestra Members’ Committee to assure that all audition procedures are followed. The audition candidates play on the stage of OH and are visually screened from the committee to assure impartiality.
 
Each member of the Audition Committee, without discussion with other members of the Committee, votes on each candidate by secret ballot either “Yes” or “No” whether in their judgment, the candidate is capable of performing in the CSO.

The music selected for the audition is available to the candidates before the audition, but any passages from the audition “list” may be requested and usually “sight reading” of unprepared passages is also requested.
 
If the candidate receives six “Yes” votes in this preliminary round, they are then passed on to the “Final” audition.  The Music Director makes the decision whom, if anyone, is hired amongst those who also receive at least six “Yes” votes from the Audition Committee voting in this “Final Audition” round.
 
Most positions are auditioned for by from 50 to hundreds of candidates. Sometimes, a number of audition rounds take place before a candidate is finally hired.
 
After the winner of the audition begins playing regular concerts with the Music Director conducting, they are granted tenure in the orchestra within two years, if the Music Director and the members of the section in which they play feel they “fit in” and meet the levels of musical style and accuracy the CSO demands.
 
It is easy to see then, why this thorough audition procedure has resulted hiring performers that produce the “World’s Best, Chicago’s Own” reputation for which CSO performances are known throughout the world.

I remember a rehearsal of Beethoven’s Fifth early in my career with the CSO.  The ancient part we were reading from was dog-eared, yellowed and frayed. I was mystified to see crude decades-old hash marks scrawled into the part at various intervals. My stand partner, a 35-year veteran of the orchestra, explained to me that these marks must have been left over from a recording session back in the days of the old 78 RPMs, when each side of the record could only hold a few minutes of music.  They would play enough for one side of the record and then stop at the hash marks. Whoever had scrawled those marks was no doubt long dead by the time I saw them.
 
Just as that viola part had been passed on through the generations, so had the music that was written on it.  I sometimes like to think of our repertoire as a living chain, originating centuries ago and, I fervently hope, destined to continue on long after any of us in the orchestra at the moment are still alive.  I can return again and again to a beloved symphony and always be renewed by it.  In concerts, its effect on the congregation in the hall is palpable.  If our performance is worthy of the music, this magic can never die.

Whatever our religious affiliations (or lack thereof), all of us in the Chicago Symphony share a common spiritual calling.   We are dedicated to this chain across the generations; we are committed to the mission of keeping our music alive.  When all of our work comes to fruition and we give a genuinely transcendent performance, the joy is hard to describe. 
 
We have become one with something that goes beyond ourselves, that supersedes somehow the limitations of our own lives and our own mortality. The Principal Violist when I joined the orchestra, Milton Preves, first came to the CSO in 1934.   Now I am seeing around me kids in their 20s, who may well be playing with the orchestra past the middle of this century—I have played with well over a century’s worth of musicians in my CSO career.  Yet the great span of the tradition our orchestra is charged with preserving dwarfs this time frame.  It has been a privilege to serve as a small link in the chain.