Why do so many orchestras lag behind the beat?

Even under the best conductors and in the finest orchestras, players tend to drag
behind the baton. Evan Johnson looks at the reasons for this universal
phenomenon
Thursday, 28 August 2014

Conductors often urge orchestras not to play behind their beat, but players, though they
may respond by looking more attentive, often continue to lag. Some conductors interpret
this as incompetence or insubordination, yet it happens in the finest orchestras, some of
which even have reputations for plalying far behind the beat. The amount of lag varies in
different situations, but the tendency is universal - and is seldom satisfactorily analysed or
addressed.

Skilful conductors learn to manipulate their orchestras to get most of what they want, but
the lag phenomenon can be frustrating. A conductor may be unable to make delicate
tempo adjustments or phrasing nuances if the sound is not reliably aligned with the stick,
and players who wish to follow a conductor carefully are often thrwarted by the unyielding
momentum of the group. At endings or transitions, there is often a mysterious group
momentum which determines the pace of tempo change and has only a vague connection
to the movement of the baton.

We observe a similar phenomenon waiting behind other cars at a traffic light. The light
turns to green, but we cannot move until the cars in front of us have reacted one by one.
Cars are not warned when the light is about to change; orchestras have the advantage of
a preparatory gesture, but are still often late to the down beat. To come in accurately, a
player must guess how late the group sound will be to the visual cue. The conductor must
not react to the lag, but continue to beat steadily, placing each beat the same amount
early.

String section leaders are often frustrated by the lag from the backs of their sections. They
have to play later than their own body cues and the beat directly over their heads, to avoid
sticking out in front of their section's sound. Playing at the back can be just as distressing.
Sometimes players stop looking at the conductor completely, to avoid a dizzying double
image: seeing one thing and hearing another. Playing syncopations under such conditions
can be nightmarish.

The low and loud sections of the orchestra - cellos, basses, and brass - seem especially
susceptible to dragging. A commonly hear explanation is that these instruments 'speak a
little late'. However, this absurdly implies that players are unable to take this effect into
account.

Another explanation for lag is that the sound produced by instruments at the back of an
orchestra takes longer to reach the front. This theory also collapses with a little
observation. For example, I once heard the opening bass pizzicatos of the Passacaglia
from Lutoslawski's Concerto for Orchestra sound exactly with the conductor's beat. Sitting
in the back of the violin section, at the opposite side of the stage, I expected the different
speeds of sound and light to make even precisely played notes seem late to the visual
cue. But my impression was of exact synchronsiation. In contrast, the slow sections of the
Berlioz Corsaire Overture, on the same programme, oozed far behind the beat. The laws
of physics are irrelevant. Musicians can play with a conductor when it is really necessary,
as in a particularly exposed and brittle passage. But when there is more margin for error,
they easily abandon the beat.

The shape of the beat may add to the problem. The haphazard gestures of some
conductors defy precise readings. A crisper design may have so much energy in the after-
swing that the crux of the beat is still ambiguous. However, when watching one of those
rare stick techniques which beautifully outlines the beat, players are apt to be late. If the
conductor were playing in a string quartet and giving cues with a bow, the other quartet
members would be ludicrously behind. Of course, the crucial difference is that a baton
does not produce sound.

A player's first allegiance must be to those who are producing the sound. Conductors who
berate players for not following their gestures forget that they can never be as closely
linked to players as players are to each other. A good players will never follow a visual cue
if that would jeopardise the ensemble. Though conductors may perceive it as thwarting
their will, this sense of ensemble bonding is essential to a clean and solid performance.

Players resent heavy-handed attempts to pull a sound web into a different shape with
visual cues. They sense how jarring it would be if the conductor's intrusions were audible.
If one or two people try to bend their sound in the direction the conductor wants to go, they
instantly have to fall back within the group's boundaries or risk raggedness. If everyone
does not move at exactly the same time, in exactly the same way, then the group sound
does not move either.

The players' instinct for good ensemble is akin to a desire for comfort and safety. The more
solid the ensemble, the more a player can relax within the framework of the group sound.
Safety in a group may explain why the sound starts off behind the stick. Players need to
sense the edge of the group sound before completely committing their own. This may
mean the merest fraction of time when the music is fast and vigorous, or an appalling
delay when it is slow or delicate.

Players may feel even safer when they perceive the conductor's intent a little before they
perceive the group's intent - when they can examine the beat for a moment before
reproducing it. They are thus doubly insulated from the embarrassment of being heard
outside of the group sound. Players at the back of an orchestra may hesitate even more to
project their sounds when the intentions of the conductor and of the other players are so
diluted by distance.

The beat can occasionally elicit sound simultaneously, if stronger emotions override the
players' inhibitions. A conductor's anger in rehearsal can cause synchronisation for a few
moments. So can the absolute dependence on the beat for ensemble, as in the
Lutoslawski example. However, the intensity of concentration or the emotional involvement
needed for this precise co-ordination may be too exhausting to maintain.

It may also seem unnecessary once the danger is past, if the ensemble is satisfactory
without the extra effort. The players' allegiance to the sound web reasserts itself quickly,
and returns the conductor to a more inspirational or decorative role.

Players fall into the visual trap too, by demanding clearer cues and maintaining that they
depend on the conductor to hold them together. They grumble that if the conductor would
only 'show us' more clearly, the ensemble problems would cease. A conductor's beat can
indeed be essential in complex or unfamiliar music. But obsession with the stick can often
distract from the more reliable process of listening for what parts must fit together.

A conductor's primary function is not to maintain a beat, but to focus the attention of the
players. Given the players' allegiance to their ensemble bond, a conductor's biggest
challenge is to set up the conditions for bonding in the desired way. Colourful verbal
descriptions and images can maintain the players' interest in shaping phrases. Facial
expressions and gestures can encourage their alertness and emotional involvement.
Careful analysis and consistent rehearsal of problem spots can develop the players'
natural concern for aural precision and accustom them to a particular result.

However, ensemble glue sets quickly, and conductors would do well not to keep meddling
with the bond. Those who try to change a tempo, once it has been established, seldom
achieve more than anxious looks from the players. Conductors may provide inspiration
and leadership but must give up the expectation that the music should flow perfectly from
the baton.

On the other hand, players may not simply assert their independence from visual
regulation. The problems and pleasures of producing sound on an instrument and of
meshing with colleagues all too often distract from the necessity of fitting into the larger
musical framework.
The bonding instinct can be disruptive if it occurs only in one section. There may be a
technical reason for this. Sometimes players fall into whatever tempo feels most
comfortable for certain passagework. Sectional pride and the satisfaction of good
ensemble with colleagues can also contribute to this inward focus. But the simplest reason
for sectional bonding is that nearby sounds are the clearest and provide the easiest
reference points. If the successful execution of a tricky passage is at stake, the person
waving the stick in the distance has even less influence, and is sometimes screened out.

Playing with a click track clearly demonstrates how selective a player's attention can be.
Staying with the click takes a surprising amount of concentration, and players easily stray
from what seems to be a very simple task. Players would not hesitate to acknowledge that
they could follow the click better with a bit more effort. Perhaps they could follow the
conductor better, too. Though a plausible explanation of lag in the low and loud
instruments may be the greater difficulty in hearing beyond the density of sound, the
weightier issue is the difficulty of forcing our attention outward, beyond our immediate
perceptions. Players of higher and softer instruments can clog the musical gear just as
easily by a preoccupying immersion in their own sounds. The conductor is the only thing
everyone can perceive with the same clarity. Players who do not make the effort to peek
over the comfortable wall of nearby sounds make life more difficult for everyone.

Though visual information may not be as compelling or as comfortable to a musician, it

can certainly be useful. Watching the bows or fingers of other players can sometimes help
solve an ensemble problem when it is really impossible to hear. Watching the conductor
can be useful, too. Players may find clues to ensemble problems they might not be
hearing, if they try to become more sensitive to exactly how far ahead the beat is, or to
how upset the conductor seems to be getting.

Perhaps what is really needed in these situations of mutual antagonism and frustration is a
little more communication and discussion. When co-operation and respect combine with
musical inspiration these technical matters can seem trivial. Occasionally, conductors and
players are so immersed in the music and so attuned to each other that everyone ends up
satisfied. It is for these rare moments that we keep making music.

This article was first published in The Strad's May 1994 issue. Subscribe to
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