At Home with London Mozart Players: So now what?

It was the suddenness, I suppose.

There are three main strands to what I do: playing for the renowned London Mozart Players and other orchestras; working with amateur orchestras (I conduct two, appear as a guest conductor elsewhere, and lead two more); and teaching at a Saturday music school in West London. Three weeks ago all these things were in full swing, though there were warning signs. Within a week they had all stopped. All at once.

I find it hard to describe how that felt.

Like a lot of people, and certainly a lot of creative artists, what I do is part of who I am.

Making music is integral to me, at a level so deep now that I normally don’t think about it. This complete cessation felt as though part of my body had been removed. My right arm, perhaps, since I both draw a bow and wave a stick with it: that’s where the sound starts.

And that’s just me on my own. I don’t make music in a vacuum, but with others; take that into account and the loss increases.

I’m the longest-serving violinist in the London Mozart Players; it is sort of a second family. Music is a profoundly social thing.

First of course there’s the audience: any player will tell you that one of the reasons every performance is different is because every audience is different. (Even ours, and we have one of the most loyal and consistent audiences around.)

Second, the act of playing together is a social thing. I have sat beside every member of my section, and every time, no matter who it is on a given day, there is a communication, a sharing, an act of joining together. This may sound over the top; I assure you that it is the simple truth.

What is a conductor when there's no one to conduct?

Conducting amateurs is different. There I am the hired expert rather than one of a family of peers. My job there is to encourage and enable, to build a team spirit. In theory, I am there to teach and guide; but the ultimate concert is the work of everyone on the platform, not just me, and my friends routinely astonish and uplift me with what they achieve. Leading is different, but similar, and the effect is much the same. But what is a conductor, or a leader, with nothing to conduct or lead?

Making music is integral to me, at a level so deep now that I normally don’t think about it. This complete cessation felt as though part of my body had been removed. My right arm, perhaps, since I both draw a bow and wave a stick with it: that’s where the sound starts.

There are days when it is difficult to pick up the violin, just now. In the back of my head:

What is the point?

And (more insidious) when some kind of normal life resumes, what will be left? How many concerts will there be? Who will want to come?

There'll be concerts again, won't there?

Oh, come on. There will be concerts again. And an audience for them. And I need to be ready, need to keep in practice, so that all of us (them and me) enjoy the experience. Need to keep following up on that recording project my string quartet, Cirrus, is working towards. Meeting up is of course a no-no, but there is music to prepare, parts to scan and mail out to my colleagues so that we hit the ground running when the time arrives.

Need to do some preparation for my orchestras. One has a programming officer, to help me come up with ideas for forthcoming seasons. In February she presented me with over thirty different concepts for concerts, many of them containing music I didn’t know at all. I’ve been doing a deal of listening, these past weeks, and re-evaluating more than a few composers as a result – even Delius, whom I have previously found it really hard to like; the Florida Suite really took me aback. I still have a backlog of Prokofiev symphonies to work through.

And the rest of the time?

Given that we are only allowed out to exercise once a day I am fortunate that my home town, St. Albans, sits on the edge of the Green Belt – it begins opposite my house. Meaning that I have long walks available to me, through farmland and woodland, within a couple of footsteps. Lucky too that I enjoy birdwatching; I took it up again last year after reading a book by my good friend and fellow conductor Lev Parikian. Plenty of good spots around me for that. Even my office window. And then there’s catching up with The Good Place...

I go out into my back garden. We planted new hedging last year, cut it back hard in winter per instructions. A month ago I feared it might all be dead. Now practically every whip is in leaf and bud. Bursting with new life.

Discover London Mozart Player's 'At Home with LMP' series - video content published daily - on the LMP website.

© Martin Smith 2020

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