How to Avoid "Mailing It In" by Thomas Wolf
I was speaking to a friend the other day—a principal string player in a major symphony orchestra. “How was the concert yesterday?” I asked.
“It was okay,” he said. “But to be honest, for much of the concert, the orchestra was just ‘mailing it in.’”
“Mailing it in.” Musicians talking about playing a performance that was mediocre.
“Mailing it in.” Such a great expression. For musicians it means delivering a performance without making a great effort…often with less than exemplary results.
“Who was conducting?” I asked.
“Some European guest. I don’t remember his name. He was okay. He talked a lot in rehearsal, trying to impress us. We had played the repertoire a hundred times. I could tell the orchestra was pretty bored.”
“You said much of the concert was lackluster. Was any of it good?”
“Actually yes,” he said. “X (he named a pianist who I had never heard) performed. We have played with him before and really like him. Several of the principals, who often sit out concertos, decided to play this one, including me. He is such an incredible musician. When he plays with the orchestra it is as if we are playing chamber music. He really listens and everyone listens to him and we make music together. Frankly, we didn’t pay much attention to the conductor. I was not surprised that it was one of the best performances of the concerto in a long time. You just know when your colleagues really care. The audience went wild too, which was nice. I asked the soloist afterwards why he didn’t play an encore. He said management told him there wasn’t time—that it was a long concert, and after the fifth curtain call they turned the house lights on. A real shame.”
What makes for a superb orchestra performance and why does a great ensemble sometimes not deliver one?
My friend had provided a few insights. A great soloist had inspired the orchestra. On the other hand, repertoire that the musicians had played countless times had lacked the extraordinary leader who could provide a special spark to make it a fresh experience. But that explanation was not enough for me. As I was mulling over what “mailing it in” really means in the case of musicians, I came across a fascinating article that provided some clues. Entitled “Why some teams boost motivation and others totally sap it” and drawing from extensive research, the article introduced the German principle of “someone else will do it” or social loafing. If your contribution to a project is not absolutely essential and if you are not especially motivated, you can coast and let others carry the load. But if too many people are “loafing,” it can become infectious and the team (or in this case, the ensemble) suffers.
A bunch of violinists in an orchestra. Does it really matter how well each individual plays if they are all playing exactly the same notes?
In an orchestra, loafing is especially tempting for a section player where many others musicians are playing exactly the same music as you are. If one doesn’t make a great effort (and playing at a very high level takes great effort), one can coast without huge consequences. But if too many people decide to coast, the general result is mediocre. This is far different from chamber music where every musician has his or her own individual part and must contribute at a high level or the ensemble will suffer. As the article indicates, “when people perceive their contribution to the team’s outcome as indispensable, they tend to show greater effort...”
A live outdoor performance of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture with real cannons is always exciting. Does it really matter to the audience how well the orchestra plays?
It should be said that on many occasions, audience members will not realize that they are sitting through an uninspiring performance. With a terrific orchestra, “mailing it in” is often the subtle difference between very good and great. And sometimes, there are other factors that come into play for an audience. Repertoire, for example. A mediocre performance of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, with its exciting crashing and banging and live cannons at the end, can be galvanizing when played even by amateurs. On the other hand, I recently heard a performance of a quiet and subtle work by György Ligeti played with extraordinary delicacy and musicality by one of the finest orchestras in the world that got little response. Audiences may not know the difference between good and great, but musicians (especially those playing) certainly do.
The Musikverein in Vienna. Sometimes a wonderful hall with superior acoustics can itself be a motivator of a great performance.
On the other hand, audiences can play an important role in motivating players. It starts with seats in the hall. If the auditorium is half empty of people (as so many halls have been over the last decade), it can be dispiriting and affect the performance. If the auditorium is sold out and the audience is responding enthusiastically, that can be a huge motivator. So too, a hall with great acoustics. Musicians talk about what it means to play in Carnegie Hall, in Boston’s Symphony Hall, in the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam or in the Musikverein in Vienna. Sitting on stage, they can hear their colleagues with such clarity that the overall effect can be intoxicating and lead to exemplary performances.
Another factor in raising the level of personal performance is how a musician may feel about colleagues. According to the article, “people are likely to feel more motivated when their teammates socially support them…or when they work on a task that can fulfil their need for relatedness.” In the past I have presented concerts called “First Chair All Stars” in which I would assemble principal players from major orchestra to perform great works together. The excitement of playing with outstanding colleagues—some of the greatest orchestra players in the world—was always a heady experience for the group and the results were always extraordinary. Said one, “I don’t think I have practiced so much for a concert in years. There is no way I was going to let my colleagues down.”
Finally, despite all the clues as to what makes for a great performance, sometimes it is impossible to know what has led to one. Years ago when I travelled as a flutist with my uncle Boris’ Goldovsky Opera Theatre, we performed the same opera week after week and it was easy, especially for orchestra players, to “mail it in.” On one occasion, I think it was in the fifth week of the tour, we were in a small city in the southern United States playing in a large auditorium in a convention center. Not exactly a situation that would be a predictor of a great performance. But something happened that night and I don’t know what it was. Half way through the first act of the opera, I could feel a tingle down my spine and I knew my colleagues were alert to whatever was happening. By the end of the opera, we were practically walking on air. It had been a magical performance. For years, I tried to figure out what happened that night and I still do not have a clue as to why we were all performing at what was for us such a high level. My only explanation is that sometimes great music, great comradery, and an unexplained spark of inspiration can light a fire that will burn brightly and make magic. It is one of the things I love about music.