AUDITION It was the summer of 1975 and I had made it to the finals for the opening in the New York Philharmonic bass section. I asked for a round trip ticket to New York at the Northport LIRR train station. The ticket attendant said something odd - something nobody had ever said to me before or since! He said, “Once they hear you play, you’ll only need a one way ticket! It was like a line of dialog from a corny old movie but in this situation it seemed like a
good omen. He didn’t even “hit me” with that old ticket attendant joke, “You’re gonna have to buy an extra ticket for your pal!”
So I got on the train. In an hour and fifteen minutes I was at Penn Station where I changed for the uptown #1 to Lincoln Center. So far, so good but I was not prepared for the emergency that followed. You see, there was a bomb scare at Avery Fisher Hall. There was something ticking inside a large cardboard box. The NYPD bomb squad was dispatched and auditions were abruptly moved to Alice Tully Hall (where, incidentally, the acoustics were far superior to those of Avery Fisher Hall). There were ten finalists. One of them was Edwin Barker, my stand partner from the 1971 and 1972 NY All State Orchestra. Ed was from upstate New York and his manner seemed a bit “countrified”. His playing, though, was truly extraordinary. It was an honor to share a stand with him! I remember my audition really well. It lasted about 45 minutes- all in all. I started oƯ with my solo piece- the “Dragonetti” Concerto. Then I played a 20 th century work, Recitativ et Dialogue by Alain Weber. My prepared excerpts included the Recitative from Beethoven lX and the first movement of Mozart 40. Everything was going ok.
Then, sight reading: (Bruckner #7)
What a chromatic piece! Luckily, I didn’t miss any of those notes. Then the bass solo from Stravinsky Pulcinella and the one from Haydn 31. Those were very familiar to me- not really sight reading at all! Then things took a turn for the worse. Mr. Boulez puts this unusual music on the stand. It was from Alban Berg’s Three Orchestral Pieces.
Check out the last two measures! I said, “I don’t believe that’s a bass excerpt!” “But it is!”, Boulez maintained.
So, I played it somehow- not sure how!
Boulez laughed and said, “So you see, it is a bass part!”
Then a gift- I had just played this at Juilliard- Schoenberg’s Kammersymphonie opus 9. It is an early work- written for 15 instruments and only one bass. Musically, it is a transition between the early Schoenberg of Verklaerte Nacht and his atonal music. I hear a Richard Strauss influence in it as well.
Finally, Boulez puts the music to the Danse Sacrale from the Rite of Spring on the stand. Boulez asks me to start at rehearsal 186 and he begins to conduct- about two feet away from me!
That was unnerving but I kept my cool and didn’t miss anything. That was the end of a very long, very challenging audition. The “bomb scare”? That was just a ticking metronome in a cardboard box! The results of the audition? We found those out two days later.
WE HAVE GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS
That may not be a literal quote but when I finally heard from the orchestra that is certainly what it sounded like to me. I got the call from personnel manager, Mr. Jimmy Chambers.
He said, “Unfortunately, we were unable to choose a bass player from the final round to fill the position but from the group, two were clearly the best. We have decided that Edwin Barker and you will split the 1975-1976 Philharmonic season. Mr. Barker will begin it and you will finish out. Congratulations, Joe, great aud ition!” As Mr. Chambers said, Ed Barker started with the orchestra in September, 1975. He played only two weeks, though, because the Chicago Symphony Orchestra had an audition for section bass which Ed easily won. He won the principal bass position in the BSO later that same year. Ed’s windfall benefited me as well. I soon got another call from Mr. Chambers asking me to start immediately. I was excited to be starting off so quickly
My first performance in the orchestra was this one followed by the one on the right .
“Liebesmahl der Apostel” by Richard Wagner is an early (1841) infrequently performed work. It begins with 17 minutes of acappella men’s choir - ending on a triumphant C major chord. The choir was a first rate one but it is extremely difficult
Wagner in the 1840’s for any choir to sing unaccompanied for so long without dropping pitch. At every performance, this seventeen minute section ended up a half step lower than it began! When the orchestra came in with its pedal point low “C” there was an unintentional dissonance stronger than any Wagner might have imagined. In any case, when the orchestra recorded this work later that week, the choir sang it immaculately.
MANHATTAN CENTER
Recording was an intensive part of the work schedule but the recording conditions themselves, back then, were a bit strange. All recordings, save a few, were made in the cavernous Hammerstein Ballroom, built in 1906 by Oscar Hammerstein l. It was constructed to house a company that would rival the Metropolitan Opera. In an attempt to eliminate the competition, the Metropolitan paid Hammerstein a substantial sum to stop all operatic performances at his venue. Thus began a slow decline for the property which began with vaudeville extravaganzas, evolved in to a massive ballroom for dancing and finally ended up in 1980 as the New York headquarters for mega evangelist Reverend Moon. It has since been bought up and renovated and serves as a showcase these days for rock concerts, boxing matches and theatrical presentations. In 1975, when I played there, the Ballroom, though enormous, had seen much better days. The Philharmonic used it for its size and flexibility. It could contain up to 2,500 human beings therefore housing an orchestra and a big choir plus recording equipment was not a problem. Every recording that I did with the Philharmonic, and there were five that season, took place in this gargantuan and dilapidated structure. The recordings made were a veritable survey of the periphery of the symphony orchestra repertoire and included, in addition to the Wagner, “La Peri” by Paul Dukas, Symphony #3 by Albert Roussel, “The Wooden Prince” by Bela Bartok and only one familiar pie ce “El sombrero de tres picos” by the Spanish composer Manuel de Falla.
I sat at the end of the bass section- there were nine players. My stand partner was the quiet but good hearted Bill Blossom. He was a former student of principal bassist, John Schaeffer and had had been in the orchestra since earlier that same year. Previously Bill had played in the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra and the Rochester Philharmonic so he had solid orchestral experience. He was Midwestern born and lived up in Rockland County with his family. He had a little boy he about all the time.
William Blossom
Walter Botti
You may wonder why it is that I didn’t sit alone as the last bassist in a 9 player section. It seems that Walter Botti, because of an eye problem, always sat by himself on the third stand. Walter was a big strong guy with a love of opera and traditional symphonic music. His son, Robert, is an oboist in the orchestra today.
Walter had some daily work routines that were interesting. His family lived in Garden City at the time and he took the LIRR commuter train in to Penn Station every day with all the “9 to 5ers”. He arrived at work in traditional 1970’s commuter garb – dark blazer, conservative tie and black leather attaché case. When he arrived at the stage level bass lockers he hung up his jacket and tie. Inside the mysterious attaché case, I found out later were an apple and today’s Daily News.
I had to include the program on the left. It featured the Mozart triple piano concerto played with three interesting soloists. They were famed Czech pianist Rudolf Firkusny, esteemed conductor Erich Leinsdorf and the august administrator and manager of the orchestra Carlos Moseley- who was also a pianist. Some “wag” in the orchestra deemed this a “Moseley Mozart” concert! The concert on the right was memorable to me because a mishap occurred in the first piece on the program, “Don Juan” by Richard Strauss. Now, “Don Juan” is one of the “chestnuts” of the orchestral repertoire and the persons involved could not have been more qualified. Leinsdorf was a brilliant musician and I believe that he may even have worked with Richard Strauss in Vienna in the early 1930’s. However, everybody makes mistakes!
After the iconic opening of Don Juan there is a soft flowing section in F# major. The concertmaster has this solo.
Eliot Chapo hesitated in the fifth bar. It was an expressive nuance really but he ended up a half note late. Eliot was a great violinist and he played with elegance and polish but Leinsdorf did not make a rhythmic adjustment so unfortunately, half the orchestra followed him while the other half followed Leinsdorf.
Musicians refer to this as a “train wreck” and it wasn’t immediately audible because the harmony was static. Then we came to a series of chromatically ascending chords. Because the musicians were playing a half bar from each other, a ghastly series of ascending chord cluster resulted before we arrived at the second theme. Then everything was back on track. At the work’s conclusion, bassist Lew Norton made a pronouncement to anybody who would listen. He orated from his place in the section, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the New York Philharmonic pulls it off once again. A minor blemish, really, but in these expert hands- utterly imperceptible!” Mr. Norton was born in Chattanooga, TN and though he sometimes referred to himself jokingly as a “redneck” he was anything but. He was a brilliant guy, a super versatile musician and a marvellous bass player. He performed the fearsomely difficult Mozart “Per Questa Bella Mano” bass obbligato with Jens Nygaard and he
was a founding member of the “Philharmonia Virtuosi” chamber ensemble. He was rarely seen without his cigarette.
One experience I really enjoyed was playing under a wide variety of guest conductors. Some, like William Steinberg were at the very end of their careers. Others like Michael Tilson Thomas were just starting out. Actually, Thomas had already been in the public eye for a few years. Lauded as Leonard Bernstein’s protégé, he was getting a lot of media attention for his stylistic versatility on the podium. All was not easy for the wunderkind , though. He had just conducted a rehearsal of Brahms Fourth Symphony with the Philharmonic. After the rehearsal, Thomas was walking uptown on Broadway. He was wearing a blue silk Steve Rubell- type “disco” jacket and a baseball cap. Somehow, he recognized me from the rehearsal and he had a need to “vent”. He came up to me and demanded, “Why is it that these guys do not feel the beat in this music? It’s just like disco music. Obviously, they don’t go clubbing, don’t go to Studio 54, they’re not listening to Ike and Tina Turner.” He started singing and riffing on a disco melody. He continued, “ T hat’s the kind of beat that you feel deep inside your body. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk!” he said while
moving to the beat. “Tell me, WTF is wrong with them?” H is face reflected his complete bewilderment. Then he walked off.
Michael Tilson Thomas in 1976
As the year went on, the Philharmonic musicians came to be friendly colleagues. I even got the chance to sit down and have dinner with music director, Pierre Boulez. It was a bit like a scene in the movie, “My Dinner With Andre”. Two of the bass players from the orchestra, Michelle Saxon and Jon Deak invited Boulez to have dinner with them in a trendy Chinatown restaurant. They invited me too. Michelle Saxon orchestrated this event. Ms. Saxon picked up Boulez in her car. He lived, at that time, in a luxury building in the West 60’s that was adjacent to Central Park. When the group arrived in Chinatown, Boulez was at his most relaxed and gracious. He seemed to be having a great time. We talked about music, astrology and formative life experiences. Most interesting of all, Boulez talked freely about his teenage years in the occupied France of the early 1940’s . He admitted to finding the hordes of marching Nazi soldiers in their brown shirts, somehow “fascinating and compelling”. He even said that he felt “magnetically drawn and even attracted” to them. That was a strange and interesting moment. Not awkward at all but interesting.
The highlight of the evening for Boulez, though, was definitely the drive uptown. We drove through Tribeca. It was bleak and uninhabited fifty years ago. Boulez became
suddenly transfixed by what he was seeing. He poked his head out the car window trying to “take in” every last Tribeca sight! I still remember him exclaiming at the barren cityscape, “A -MAZING! It is absolutely desolate! There is no one here! A- MAZING!”
Tribeca in the 1970’s If this were a movie you might suddenly hear music by Erik Satie on the soundtrack ( or at least “Bourreaux de solitude” from “Le Marteau sans maître”)!
It wasn’t a movie, though. It really happened.
Then my bubble burst. One day in February a Juilliard bass student came up to me and asked, “Did you see the ad in the Local 802 Allegro magazine? There’s an opening in the bass section! Did you know about this? ” I didn’t and when I went in to play the Philharmonic concert that evening, I asked around. Musicians in the orchestra said things like, “We already knew about the audition but since you’re doing such a great job there is nothing for you to worry about! Relax! You don’t even have to play “prelims” if you don’t want to.” I couldn’t “relax” and here’s why. In the first audition, I was a student with nothing to lose. I ended up playing the best audition of my life. Now, some six months later, my mindset had changed. I was a working musician now and I was risking “losing face” in front of my colleagues!
To help, my teacher Homer Mensch lent me his priceless Grancino. He felt that the bass I had used in the last audition didn’t help me. It was a Prague 1930’s Juzek and he said that although it was loud, it was loud in a “cheap carnival” way. He said that I might not have had the “seasoned orchestral sound” the committee wanted. I am thankful to Homer for lending me his cherished 18 th century Italian instrument. I played it everywhere for about a month- at Juilliard, at the Philharmonic- everywhere.
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Homer Mensch (1914-2005) had a long history with the Philharmonic. He was accepted into the orchestra in 1938 and played there until he enlisted in the Army during World War II. In 1966 he was invited back into the orchestra by music director Leonard Bernstein. He stayed on the roster for nine years. Homer was very supportive of me but deep inside I was still terrified. Somehow, I don’t remember all the events from that time period. Anxiety lends a dull grey coat of uncertainty that blocks out the details of life itself.
Roger Sessions at 80 My classes at Juilliard were a respite from the uncertainty I felt at work. I especially enjoyed my composition lessons with Roger Sessions though I didn’t have the time to bring in anything substantial. I would try to “buy time” by bringing in something I was orchestrating or something old that I never deemed worthy of bringing to a lesson. This never worked! He would spread his arms all over the music and the sides of his desk left creases on my music. Then a very awkward silence ensued and he would ask me, “No, well I mean….how are things otherwise?” accenting the first syllable of “otherwise”. The implication to me was that things were going terribly with the music I was writing but there must somehow be some happier aspect of my life to serve as a temporary distraction! He was 80 years old now and the Philharmonic was marking that birthday with several performances of his Third Symphony both at Fisher Hall and the Juilliard Theatre. The conductor was Boulez. Sessions was thrilled about this and I felt proud to be playing in the orchestra for these performance
At the dress rehearsal at the Juilliard Theatre the 80 year old Roger Sessions came up to Boulez to discuss some details of balance and articulation. Boulez didn’t seem to
be listening at all. His manner was curt and dismissive with the elder composer. I heard this exchange from the stage of the Juilliard Theatre and I jumped down to the floor to talk with my teacher and distract him if he were upset. Sessions was a stoic New Englander and didn’t seem at all upset. He was glad his music was being played. I was upset to see him treated with such indiƯerence. There is one funny thing I remember around the time of the audition. Every year the Philharmonic would play a joint concert with the All City Orchestra. This event would concert where both orchestras would play side by side.
Monday morning I came to the hall for the dress rehearsal with All City. I always went in through the Artists Entrance and walked up the stairs. This morning, the security guard wouldn’t let me through. He said, “The kids go through the other entrance!” My protests were of no avail and my feelings were hurt. I discussed this with principal viola Sol Greitzer. He said, “Joey, Joey, Joey you’ve got a baby face! When you’re older you’ll be glad!”
Sol Greitzer, principal viola
That Thursday, March 18 th 1976 was my second audition on the stage of Fisher Hall. That evening, I had a concert with the Philharmonic. Pierre Boulez was conducting Schubert 9 th .
It was not a good audition. My main problem was that I got nervous didn’t do my best. How nervous was I? When I played the first movement of the Schubert Arpeggione Sonata my hands were sweating so much that my left hand kept popping off the finger board on to the body of the instrument. I have absolutely no recollection of what happened next. By the time I got back to my apartment, I knew that I didn’t stand a chance. When Chambers told me the results that evening, I took it like a 2 year old! I sat right down on the steps by the bass lockers and started to cry out loud like a baby. Then when it was time to play Schubert’s 9th with the orchestra, I mouthed obscenities at Boulez, when he looked appraisingly at me from the podium. He must have been able to read lips because he abruptly looked away. The personnel manager told me that I could finish the season if I wanted to. I opted not to.
I played a few more weeks (not sure).
I remember Leonard Bernstein coming in and conducting Roy Harris 3 rd Symphony at the beginning of April 1976. That was amazing. I’m not a fan of Roy Harris but Bernstein made you see Harris as a “true believer”- a “rugged American” version of Anton Bruckner. That’s a feat that only Bernstein could have accomplished.
It was time to go. My stand partner, Bill Blossom pleaded, “You’re not going to leave now, Joe? My old pal Kenneth Schermerhorn (the director of the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra) is coming here. You can’t miss Schermerhorn.” I really appreciate Bill asking me that but no, I couldn’t stay.
In retrospect, I don’t blame anybody but myself for what happened. Auditions are tough and “state of mind” is key. I was lucky to get the opportunities I did and, very happily, the “door was open” for frequent subbing and touring in the following years. I did get one “teeny, tiny, guilty” bit of satisfaction when the Philharmonic 10,000th concert occurred and they made the photo below the “centerfold” of the glossy booklet that marked the occasion. Like the R.E.M. song goes, “that’s me in the corner”.
TROUBLE IN “PARADISE” I played on the August/September 1982 Philharmonic South American tour as a substitute in the double bass section. For me, having spent the month before teaching bass at the Festival do Inverno in Campos do Jordão , it was familiar turf. At the Festival the previous month, I had been teaching bass to twelve Brazilian high school students.
Here are six of them- Clovis, Fausto, Orley and Adail (photo on left) and Sergio and Flaviana on the right I learned an important lesson from Orley. One night at the Festival, I attended a concert. While I was talking with another American teacher, I noticed something strange. Orley and Fausto were seated to my left. Every time I spoke, Orley would start saying, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah” to Fausto. At first I couldn’t figure it out but I soon realized that my English was mere gibberish to Orley! Truly, thinking that English is universally understandable and predominant is a misconception for many Americans. Communication with my students was diƯicult at first. Only one kid spoke English. So that I could eƯectively teach, I learned the Portuguese words that pertained to
playing a stringed instrument. I mixed these words in with the Spanish I had learned in junior high. In addition, every day in my hotel I studied Portuguese verb tenses and the basics of the language. By the end of the month, I could have a simple conversation in Portuguese and I was proud about that. It was thrilling to be able to return to South America with the New York Philharmonic only a few weeks later. I was definitely psyched! The tour started in Caracas, Venezuela- at that time an oil rich economy. We continued to Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo where I got to see some of my former students again.` Also, by then, I could actually chat with them in their own language. I hung out with the best bass player in the group- Sergio de Oliveira e Silva. He was a “wiz” with virtuoso bass repertoire but spoke absolutely no English.
Festival do Inverno teachers (note oboist Bill Bennett on right)
The JaƯe family. I met them in Campos- this is from a 1984 concert at the University of Illinois
It was thrilling to be able to return to South America with the New York Philharmonic only a few weeks later. I was definitely psyched! The tour started in Caracas, Venezuela- at that time an oil rich economy. We continued to Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo where I got to see some of my former students again. Also, by then, I could actually chat with them in their own language. I hung out with the best bass player in the group- Sergio de Oliveira e Silva. He was a “wiz” with virtuoso bass repertoire but spoke absolutely no English. Next stop was charming Montevideo, Uruguay where this picture was taken (below right). The name of the intersection made me feel right at home (LOL)
Photo by Ben Simon Then on to Buenos Aires where we played concerts in the historic Teatro Colon. This was the era of the “Falklands War” when Argentina fought with Great Britain to hold on to a territory they call Malvinas . There was terrible hyper inflation for the Argentines and the American dollar was suddenly much stronger than it had ever been. (I am kind of ashamed that I took advantage of this.) I had steak dinners with wine for two dollars and bought a $1200 ebony Moeck Rottenburgh alto recorder for just $25 at Ricordi’s.
The Teatro Colon was marvellous. Also, I was grateful that they listed the subs names in the program with the rest of the orchestra.
As you can see on the itinerary (upper left), September 3, 1982 was a free day for the orchestra. The orchestra management thoughtfully scheduled a day trip to Iguazu Falls- an extraordinary natural wonder at the intersection of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay (see my crappy photo below)
Photo by author
I was chatting up the tourists and practicing my conversational skills. I lost track of time - never a good idea on a tour! Suddenly, I remembered that I had been with a group. I got nervous and furtively made my way to the parking lot. There I made the astounding discovery that the Philharmonic buses had departed. I asked a random person there, ‘ Diga-me o que aconteceu com ônibus americano ” (Tell me what happened to the American bus) He answered, “ O grupo americano já foi embora” (The American group just left) I was frozen in panic. Forget about speaking Portuguese, I could no longer speak English. All I could do was say a four- letter word over and over while it dawned on me that I not only had I missed my connection but I also had neither passport nor money. I was truly f-cked! The Brazilian tourist I had just spoken with said something I did not understand and drove me to a small administrative o ice on the outskirts of the park. They will help me, he seemed to say. The administrator in this oƯice was dressed like a park's ranger. She had a mop of curly hair and sat with her feet on a steel desk on an old-fashioned roll back chair. She did not speak one word of English.
I did my best to explain my situation to her and had recovered my composure. She listened to me intently and then leaned all the way back on her chair suddenly breaking out into unrestrained laughter. This bothered me because I was not being taken seriously at all! I was, after all, playing in a prestigious musical group. Then she got on the phone and started talking to somebody. I still remember what she said because it made me feel even worse “ Diga-me alguma coisa senhor. Que tipo de guia deixaria um bobo americano que não fala português e que também não tem dinheiro o passaporte - no meio da selva?” (Tell me something sir. What kind of tour guide would leave an American fool who doesn’t speak a word of Portuguese- who has no money or passport- in the middle of a jungle?) I didn’t like that my skills were being slighted and made a face. She amended her comment somewhat. “ Estou te dizendo - que tipo de guia deixaria um bobo americano que fala um pouquinho de português no meio da selva?” ( I’m telling you- what kind of tour guide would leave an American fool who speaks a little bit of Portuguese- in the middle of a jungle ?)
I had no idea what was going on until two Peruvian looking guys stopped by about 10 minutes later. They asked me to get in their car and I was driven to a dock on the Paraná river. There was a rowboat moored there which they eƯiciently paddled across the river. At the other end of the river was Paraguay.
The River Parana AI generated illustration
When we got to Paraguay, I was met by a fiftyish woman wearing black with a lit cigarette hanging over the side of her mouth. She spoke rapid fire Spanish with an Italianate lilt like many Argentinians do. I postulated that she might be Argentine but really didn’t know. Nor did I know her name or have any idea what the trajectory of the mission was at this point.
AI generated image
She drove me to an inexpensive looking one floor motel near the Asuncion, Paraguay airport. It was in this vicinity. As you can see, there is this predominant color of red clay everywhere and a complete
Asuncion Paraguay absence of high-rise buildings. I truly felt that I was “someplace else” now and that I was somehow irretrievably “out of sync” with the rest of the orchestra. The next morning, a driver comes to the motel and books me on the plane from Asuncion to Buenos Aires. I never paid for the plane ticket or the motel in Paraguay. They were all, by means unknown, “taken care of”. When I got on the plane in Buenos Aires, I was met by the assistant to the orchestra General Manager. She said, “Joe, everybody in the orchestra is so worried about you!” She drove me to the elegant Sheraton Hotel- a far cry from the motel I had stayed at in Paraguay.
The Hotel Sheraton in Buenos Aires
I was hungry so I went to the hotel restaurant. None other than Maestro Zubin Mehta invited me to his table and bought my ravioli. “Joe”, he said expansively, “Everybody has been so worried about you. How did you ever find your way back?” We chatted over pasta for about a half an hour. The maestro was charming and loquacious. I was amazed that he even knew my name! (Substitutes in an orchestra feel anonymous and invisible).
AI generated illustration of Zubin Mehta eating lunch
I was feeling like a “celebrity” until I ran into Jimmy Chambers, personnel manager and legendary first horn player in the Philharmonic (until 1969). He was a great musician and always honest with people. He had great integrity. I didn’t enjoy what he had to say, though.
He looked at me with his deep-set blue eyes and said, “Joe, there is no excuse for what you did. What you did was unprofessional. You acted like a child!” Mr. Chambers was right, of course!
On September 6th we were on the way to our next destination- Santiago, Chile. Who should I see on the bus to the airport but Maestro Zubin Mehta himself. I made a little joke (since we were now on “social terms”. “Maestro, it’s not everyday that you get to ride the airport bus with the music director
of a major orchestra. It is truly a special occasion.” He shot right back as I was snapping this very picture.
Jerome Roth and Stanley Drucker laughing at Maestro Mehta’s joke
“It is a special occasion for me too (pause). It is the first bus on the whole tour that you actually remembered to get on.” I learned three things from this episode. 1. Always stay with the group
2. Always bring money and needed documentation 3. The conductor will always have the last laugh
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