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The tempo screamed the third movement of the Tchaikovsky1to Mark, and he quickly pulled the music from his folder and began playing. Within a minute, the entire orchestra was playing and the music swelled around Mark. He stopped playing the orchestral part and breathed for a moment before standing to begin his solo, facing the musicians.
He relaxed, letting the music flow around him, through his body and soul. He kept an eye on Maestro, watching for unusual tempo changes and other nuances he might slip in unexpectedly.
Maestro Novak smiled as his hands moved steadily through the air, his head bobbing with the music, turning page after page as the music went on. Mark found himself smiling at the other man, and Maestro returned it with sincerity in his eyes.
The maestro didn’t stop, even when the first horn player skipped ahead several pages, and the flutist missed her cue. He simply smiled and nodded, and continued to conduct the emotional piece.
Mark couldn’t relax into the piece, never having played it with this maestro before, but they found their rhythm and eased through the movement with few issues.
As the last moments of the piece approached, Maestro grinned and urged the orchestra faster than Mark had ever heard it. His fingers flew faster and faster until the final chords hit and he could breathe again.
Mark chuckled as the orchestra laughed as Maestro dropped his hands and Mark wiped the sweat from his brow. Maestro stepped off the platform and patted Mark on the shoulder. “Well done, Mark. Well done.”
Mark gave a small nod of the head and smiled, his respect for the man growing infinitesimally as he realized the man really could conduct. It impressed him. A bit.
“So, now you know I appreciate the classics, yes?” Maestro Novak said with a grin on his face, his arms open wide. “I am not the modern tyrant others make me out to be, no?”
The musicians laughed and nodded.
“I am not without appreciation for the music of the distant—and not-so-distant—past.” He nodded to Mark. “We will be playing this opening night.” Maestro paused. “I realize some of the music I have chosen is not your usual fare. I hope we can grow through the experience and appreciate, if not enjoy, these modern composers.”
Mark sat down as the other musicians around him nodded.
“I will admit, I will—how can I explain it—test the waters. I want to push you, and the audience, into new experiences.”
Mark raised his eyebrows and studied his bow. More hairs were coming loose. Time to send it to the luthier.
“I’m sure most of you, if not all, will be relieved to learn only one of the modern pieces in the folder will be on the final opening night program. We will perform the Tchaikovsky andMetacosmos.”
Sandra let out a long sigh. “Thank God,” she murmured under her breath. “Only one set of barnyard animals.”
Mark pressed his lips together to suppress a laugh.
“We will also be performing Dvorák’s ‘New World Symphony’ to honor our beloved, retired Maestro Pavolini.”
Mark smiled. The Dvorák was Maestro Pavolini’s favorite and he always worked it in every season, no matter how the board protested. Maybe this wouldn’t be the terrible season he thought it would be.
“I realize the other pieces may not be comfortable at first. Maestro Pavolini wasn’t fond of modern composers.”
“Postmodern,” Mark muttered under his breath.
“We must bring new blood into the audience. Eighty percent of the audience has white hair. The other twenty percent dye it.”
Laughter.
“Young people enjoy the modern discordant music and we must lure them in with something controversial, and seek to woo them with the traditional.”
Novak had a point, though Mark wasn’t quite ready to concede it yet.
“Which means we must put more energy into the traditional symphonies. We must energize ourselves before we can energize the audience. I understand some of this music may be uncomfortable, but I am hopeful we can come together and find delight in everything we play.” Novak put his hand on his heart. “I love music. All music. All music has its good and bad. Its blessings and curses. No piece is perfect. But if we can love the music we play, we can reach the audience with passion and excitement!” He turned to Sandra. “Sandra, how many times have you played the ‘New World Symphony’?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. Many times.”
“Exactly!” Novak jumped on his toes and waved his hands in the air. “When you’ve played the piece so many times you cannot count them, you become complacent.” A slow smile grew across his face. “So, to combat the complacency... I’ve rewritten your parts.” He nodded to the back and Joyce, the orchestra manager, began to hand out music. “Just the first bit. I’ve done it a few ways because I haven’t decided which composition I want to play.”
Joyce handed Mark the piece and gave an apologetic smile as she walked away.
Mark stared at the music and blinked. “What the hell?”
