Brought to you this hour by

Advertising and Web Hosting on Woodwind.Org!

Doublereed Archive - Posting 000097.txt from 2003/03

From: "D Bogan" <dgbogan@-----.net>
Subj: [DR-L] RE: The Broadway strike from the oboist's chair
Date: Sun, 9 Mar 2003 09:21:11 -0500

I thought this was a terrific article from the NY Times today.
Donna Bogan
Alice, Texas, America

OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
A Final Note
By BLAIR TINDALL

The pit was picked clean. The musicians of "Man of La Mancha" had already
removed photos, sweaters, electronic tuners, metronomes, instrument stands,
and even the mattress for naps between shows. After the evening's bows, we
took our trumpets, flutes and guitars away, too.
Our contract with Broadway's theatrical producers expired on Friday.
Broadway shows went dark and prospects for a resolution look bleak.
Negotiators can't agree on the number of musicians required for each theater
Producers want fewer players and more technology, while musicians aim to
preserve jobs and live music.
After we walked off the job, our 16 music stands were replaced with a
keyboard and computer. In fact, the cast had already been rehearsing with
their new "virtual orchestra." I'm told the practice didn't go well, but I'm
biased.
"Settle," a stage electrician told me before I opened the pit door for our
last performance.
I thought about what he said as I watched the front row fill up. Some bubbly
tourists asked about the strike. A man studied the trombonists intently,
squeezing his girlfriend's hand. A surly-looking man crossed his arms over a
newspaper on his chest, sighed, and glared at his wife.
I love that front row. And I love playing for a show. Every performance is
different, shaped by the actors, the audience and us. Our last night was no
exception. Halfway through the performance, one actor's timing sent us
scrambling in a new tempo. During "The Impossible Dream," our guitarist
played with such softness that his sound seemed to drift out of the
wood-paneled pit. Deep blue light bathed the surly man, who was leaning
forward, his head cocked, his anger gone.
Every show, when Don Quixote dies, he drops his sword and it rattles across
the stage. The trumpeter always kids around, holding out his hand as if the
sword were going to fall on us. On Thursday, it rolled closer than ever. For
once, though, no one laughed.
During the exit music, the surly man smiled and patted his wife. After the
lights came up, people seemed to be lingering in the theater.
But those of us in the pit moved on. We hauled the drum kit outside. The
bass was zipped into its bag and toted to the curb. Locker doors slammed in
the band room. This night, the music responded to the actors — and the
audience. If virtual orchestras take over, it will be mechanical and
unyielding — measured by keyboard velocity, musical software interfaces, and
the zeros and ones of digital musical samples.
We looked around the pit, grabbed our instruments, and shut out the lights.

Blair Tindall is solo oboist in the Broadway production of ``Man of La
Mancha.''