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Teaching Artist: An Interview with Malcolm W. Rowell, Jr.
January 13, 2018
Malcolm W. Rowell, Jr. is a conductor and music educator. He is a Director of Bands and Professor of Music Emeritus at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, and served as the principal conductor of the University Wind Ensemble and Symphony Band from 1980-2003. Under his baton the wind ensemble released four CD's: The Wind Music of David Maslanka (1991), Symphonic & Wind Music of Charles Bestor (1994), Tears (1996) and Wind Currents (2001).
Malcolm was kind enough to sit down with me to talk about his life and career. Our interview was recorded live, then transcribed and edited for readability.
Tibbetts: There are a few topics I would like to discuss today. The first thing I'd like to do is talk about your biography and career. I know that you're a conductor, and that you have founded a number of ensembles. Can you summarize your activities?
Rowell: I will do my best!
Tibbetts: Of course I realize it's hard to summarize decades of work.
Rowell: To start with, I'm not sure that I aspired to teach or conduct at the college level when I was your age. I saw myself as primarily a music educator. Perhaps I'll start by talking about that part of my life, then lead into the experiences and opportunities that influenced the direction of my life and career.
There is no doubt in my mind that my father was the strongest influence on my life and career. He graduated from Dartmouth College (Phi Beta Kappa) with a major in math and science. He also played the trumpet extraordinarily well. Dad graduated from Dartmouth in 1936. I was born in 1942.
Dad was involved with the Barbary Coast Orchestra. Mind you, this was at the height of the big band era. Think of the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, and Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra. There was Larry Elgart, and then along came the Dorsey Brothers. These were strong influences on my dad's musical interests and tastes. He did all the arranging for the Barbary Coast Orchestra. They spent their summers performing throughout Europe, playing on ships, etc. He often spoke of earning three quarters of his way through Dartmouth College playing his trumpet. In other words, he was by no means a pickup trumpet player or someone with a passing interest in music.
After graduating from Dartmouth, Dad returned to Newport, New Hampshire where he grew up. That was a different era. I grew up in the town where my grandparents lived, where my aunts and uncles lived, where my cousins lived. That would be very unusual today. Today, you are fortunate if you or your extended family live in the same country.
Anyway...Dad also played piano. In my younger years, he became very involved in church music and conducted our church choir for 26 years. I witnessed his effectiveness as a teacher, and also witnessed his ability to nurture relationships and thus community. He was a wonderful model for me.
At age 16, when he insisted that I sing tenor in the church choir, I resisted like any normal sixteen year old. Part of it was because it was Dad saying this, and another was because it wasn't necessarily the cool thing to do at that age. But...I did it. In retrospect, the literature he chose and the quality of musicianship he drew from the members was absolutely remarkable. In the end, those experiences and his model proved to be central to any success I have had as a music teacher. I owe the world to him!
I recently attended a retreat at the South Shore Conservatory in Hingham, Massachusetts. SSC is a community school for the arts where I taught for twenty seven summers. Among the sessions was a fifty year retrospective discussing my career in the form of question and answer. The first question invited me to talk about some of my musical influences. Of course I spoke of my dad, and in doing so I became very emotional. Still grieving the loss of my father, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of gratitude at the fact that I was at the South Shore Conservatory among fellow music educators, examining and exploring together what it is that we do (and how) as artists, musician, educators.
I was fortunate to have many wonderful teachers throughout my career, my dad among them. I started taking trumpet lessons around grade six and participating in the public school music program in grade seven.
Tibbetts: So your dad was teaching you trumpet lessons directly?
Rowell: Yes, at home in our dining room. He was also teaching trumpet privately. By now he had left teaching and gone into a family business. His father was president of the family business, and when taken ill Dad would go to the 'store' after teaching all day to do the bookwork. He became more and more interested in the business aspect of things. He was a very balanced person...he was drawn to figures and math, and he also had an artistic side. I vividly recall many evenings of Dad sitting at the piano and singing.
I saw how important relationships were to him. People came to our family business just to be in his presence. They might buy a quart of paint, but they really came to see him. It was a long time before I truly understood his effect on other people.
As my teacher or employer, he didn't treat me differently than other students or employees. The expectations were the same. He would expect my best effort and for me to be on time. He often shared with me what he felt I was capable of, always in an encouraging manner. This was a time when you didn't question the wisdom of your parents.
Tibbetts: This was the classic 'tough but fair' approach.
Rowell: Great teachers have expectations and vision, and believe in human potential. Great teachers create an environment that embraces an element of creative tension while transferring responsibility to the learner. Good teaching attracts the interest of good students, great teaching both motivates and inspires. Great teachers are great leaders.
I started teaching in 1969 in Springfield, Vermont, a town of about ten thousand. My parents attended all of my concerts. It didn't matter if it was fifth and sixth grade bands, high school bands, inside or outside. I had that kind of interest and unconditional support. What this taught me was that what I was doing with my life and career was valued, for the arts teach us what it means to be human while contributing to quality of life.
I also had the confidence and courage to take risks, allowing me to grow. I think I was more of a risk taker than my parents were. Whether you are a composer, conductor, teacher, or all of the above, in this business you have to be willing to take risks in order to grow and learn. It is this sense of vulnerability that is so vital to the artistic (aesthetic) experience. The arts reveal themselves to a contemplative mind.
Tibbetts: Can you talk about some of the risks you took as a young teacher?
Rowell: There are a couple that come to mind immediately. In the summer of 1975, I headed off to the University of Michigan to start my doctoral studies.
May I back up for a moment?
After having taught for about five or six years, I realized that I was a good teacher, and a musician with the ability to motivate and engage musicians of all ages and abilities. And before that, when I began teaching, I already had a strong foundation, even though I hadn't been employed by a school district. I had very strong musical experiences in college and as a member of the USMA Band at West Point. Here I interacted with talented musicians who went on to teach at major institutions and perform in the country's major professional orchestras. I was living with these people, eating with them, golfing with them, conversing with them and interacting with them. What an enormous influence and significant part of my education that was!
In short, I had confidence at age 24 or so in what I was doing, although I didn't know what I didn't know.
This was pre-DMA degrees in conducting and prior to conducting symposiums. Conducting is an art and now we teach it as a subject. Conducting is leadership, non-verbal communication, and teaching--above all, it requires knowledge of the subject matter and the ability to inspire. Many of the leading wind conductors of my era were public school music educators early on in their careers. This experience 'in the trenches' required pedagogical understanding of the instruments, as well as an in-depth understanding of the "why, what and how of rehearsing large ensembles."
Artist teachers/musicians/conductors have in-depth musical understanding, strong inter-/intra-personal skills, leadership ability, sensitivity and innate God-given talent.
I went to Ithaca College in summer of 1974 for a one-week workshop with Frederick Fennell, clinician. There were 42 music educators in that workshop. Everyone conducted a couple times and had the benefit of Dr. Fennell's critique and tutelage, as well as the opportunity to learn from one another. At the end of the week, Dr. Fennell selected 5 participants to share the podium with him in concert. I happened to be one of them. Prior to this experience I had no aspirations of being a conductor, certainly not at the collegiate level. However, if Dr. Fennell believed in my potential and recognized an innate gift, then perhaps I had a responsibility to nurture it. This experience was very revealing. It was an important juncture in my young career. Along with Dr. Fennell's endorsement, this experience encouraged me to take myself, my teaching and conducting to a whole new level, and for the first time I began to truly realize what it meant to be an artist. As an artist I was held responsible to a new level of performance, as I saw myself as a composer's advocate. This went well beyond teaching the students to play their instruments, playing with accuracy and good pitch; this was about interpretation, realization and seeking artistic 'truth.'
The next summer I went to the University of Michigan. At that time I was interested in studying with H. Robert Reynolds and James Froseth, highly regarded educators/musicians of the time. Spending 7 weeks in Ann Arbor, having left my young family behind, was a decision that I reflect upon to this day. Without a doubt, there was a price to pay.
Talk about risk! I was over my head in some regards. (I learned in retrospect that when we embrace our discomforts we are called upon to do our best work.) There is a sense of urgency and need and when confronted with these circumstances/environments we learn the critical nature of what it means to be an artist. I often refer to this as 'creative tension.' It is very important, from time to time, to put yourself in situations where you rub up against people who think differently than you do. This of course, requires that we be both brave and courageous while at the same time risking our vulnerability. Consequently, my University of Michigan experiences changed my life, my perspective, my vision and my aspirations. In fact, nearly every musical encounter that I experienced, initiated, and shared led me through a period of discomfort and uncertainty, before realizing the true gift of music is its ability to reveal the deeper part of our being.
I was heavily involved with David Maslanka's music for the better part of 10--15 years while conducting at the University of Massachusetts. We recorded a lot of his music at UMass. The emotional and physical demands of David's music challenged every aspect of my being. The impact of this music came from who he was as a man: it comes from the mind and depth of experience he shares. What I'm saying is that there were many times I felt inadequate as a musician.
There is a beautiful handwritten letter from David on my wall, as well as some pictures of him and I making a few adjustments in a recording session. He and I were agreeing to disagree, you might say. I call it creativity at its best. I was revealing my vulnerability to David, and more importantly doing so in the presence of my students. The message to the musicians was far-reaching, for they knew that I wasn't asking them to do something that I wouldn't do myself. They could see my willingness to learn and to take necessary risks inherent in the process.
Tibbetts: What are some of the things you learned from David Maslanka?
Rowell: I learned so much about myself and my musicianship. I learned to trust myself and others. I found in David a kindred spirit. I learned to appreciate one another's time, energy, insight, willingness and faithfulness to music. May I read this handwritten letter David sent to me in January 1996 following our first recording project?
"Dear Bill, I received copies of 'A Child's Garden of Dreams' and 'Symphony No. 2' from Albany Records yesterday. I have listened to most of it again, and have to say one more time what a pleasure it is for me to have these performances of yours in this permanent form."
I want to read this next part as well...
"I am proud of you and what you have accomplished. You have dared to put your soul into the work, a thing which is inevitably painful to do, and you have provided a way for both of us to grow."
I don't know how to answer your question any better than that!
Tibbetts: It's touching that you have this on your wall. I can see that this letter means a great deal to you.
Rowell: Yes...I sometimes reference or think about this when I am in search of inspiration.
Tibbetts: I'd like to ask about your process of interpreting scores, because this is an area where I have much to learn. How do you figure out what's going on in big complex pieces? I have seen a few of Maslanka's handwritten scores, and they look pretty intense. They can also be hard to read...
Rowell: They are works of art. Whether you're looking at a letter or a score, there's a part of David there, visually and aurally serving as a reminder of the importance of relationship. Writing handwritten letters is a lost art. I'm not saying that's purely a bad thing. Typed communication and computer programs serve to facilitate, no doubt about that. David's communications were always handwritten.
So what you are asking is when you're looking at a score--handwritten or otherwise--what are your cues to know what you will do next? How do you interpret it? How do you ingest the music? Where do you begin?
The answers are different for each one of us. I certainly haven't perfected a system. It is a process. I guess it all begins with the reasons why you have selected this piece of music to study and perform.
Actually, David helped me with this as well. As he scanned through the score, he was always true to the tempo. He would then simply look and listen, allowing information and sounds to present themselves. He was in a way acquainting himself with the score, studying but not yet analyzing it. Analyzing is a process of investigation with the intention of finding more specific information.
Allow the music to come to you, whether by ear, eye, instrumentation, special effects, melody, harmony, tempo, articulation, color, tempi relationships, or phrasing. In time, you come to notice more and more detail and relationships. This might lead to augmentation or diminution of rhythmic patterns or melodic motives.
Over time I might begin to realize the use of extensive percussion...players and instruments (i.e. piano, harp, or amplified cello)...
Tibbetts: You begin from far away. Then you gradually zoom in more and more on the details which define the score.
Rowell: I believe that to the composer, the most important thing is time and tempo, followed closely by style, character and context. Melodic line and harmonic language are then served by dynamics, nuance, subtlety, balance and compositional trademarks (i.e. ostinati figures, transitions, sudden and/or gradual dynamic impact moments and the use of instrumentation to build to a climax through tension and release, the use of solo/soli, etc.) I find that transition moments speak to the composer's sense of originality.
Tibbetts: There's a metaphor for this that I like to use with my students: it's like there are a huge number of dials you can control as the composer or orchestrator. One dial might be dynamic contrast, another might be tempo, another might be how thick or transparent the orchestration is, another might be the degree of dissonance in a chord. Adjusting any of these dials will produce a different response to what is happening in the piece at that moment.
Rowell: Absolutely. Figuring that out is part of the analysis process. On the other hand, the initial score reading offers an overview. It's like scanning the table of contents, looking at the cover, and flipping through a few pages here and there. It may give you a passing overview, but in a greater sense should make you hungry to know more. It is the analysis that ultimately provides you with a sense of musical understanding and ownership. After all, before I have any business being on the podium, I need to feel that sense of ownership...as if this piece was written for me.
Tibbetts: That's interesting. I feel like a lot of what you just said applies to how I compose. I start with a sort of faraway, blurry idea of what I want to write. Then I gradually become more and more specific. Actually, I think most composers probably work that way.
Rowell: It's no different from a stroll in the woods. You can walk in the woods and simply acknowledge the many trees in the forest all around you, and you might hear the wind blowing or the sun shining. Another time you may walk in the same woods and be struck by curiosity, and stop to identify the particular species of tree, or maybe wonder how old it is...It's the same process when studying a score.
Often when I am asked to adjudicate in festivals, I find myself addressing breath, style, dynamic contrast and rhythmic integrity. There is often some discussion about expectations and performance standards. This leads to a conversation about 'why' we rehearse...which influences 'what' we rehearse and then determines 'how' we rehearse. One's overall knowledge of the score will reveal suggestions and answers to the questions of why, what and how.
The rehearsal/performance is a shared process, and one of collaboration between musicians and conductor. We must realize that as teachers and conductors we are either sensitizing or desensitizing our musicians. Music making is a shared responsibility, and can help young students to view the significance of music differently.
Tibbetts: Anything worth doing is worth doing well, and sometimes it's better to have no experience than a bad one.
Rowell: Exactly!
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