The Violin Concerto

I must admit that my least favorite genre of music is the post-baroque concerto. There are some that I like, and plenty that I admire, but if I were never to hear another one again, well, there is enough other music out there that I would not grieve. OK, I would miss Berg's, but beyond that, not much.

Today we were listening to some 19th century violin concerto and it hit me: it is a preposterous image. You have the soloist as hero, and I have known too many violinists. A piano concerto is more plausible, at least most pianists think of themselves as heroes of some sorts (after all, their instrument is a gigantic beast of cast iron), but violinists? They are the skinny ones who have "Peace Through Music" stickers on their cars. And if they aren't, their instrument sounds like it should be played by those who do.

The violin is at its most heroic when it is totally alone: slightly mournful, really exposed, setting up a tremendous power against a certain austerity. The violin is the anti-accordion. An accordion is a self-contained orchestra. One player can play all sorts of chords and harmonies, but a violinist is forced to resort to tricks to hold any sort of counterpoint. A triple stop here, a double stop there, but for the most part, it is about forcing the ear to hear one tone longer than it actually does.

But when you have a lush orchestra providing the harmonies, the violinist as hero becomes preposterous. He is a shrill and effete officer, standing on the hillside while the troops muck it out, only to take credit for their courage.

A singer at least has to deal with the fact that, deep down, the musicians hate her. When a singer goes against the orchestra, especially in Wagner, she is the lone soprano standing against the enemy cavalry. Like a Therimin player, she has no frets or keys or even a fingerboard. Unlike every musician, with the possible exeption of guitarists, she goes to bed with her instrument. When a fiddle player has a cold, he can take drugs and slog through it. When a singer has so much as a tickle in the throat, it can mean a career ending move to appear.

But a violinist plays with the orchestra that is usually dominated by his fellow violinists. So, when the premise of a competition between soloist and orchestra comes out, he is not only the enemy, but a traitor. The meanest trick a composer can play on a violin soloist is to give small solos to the concertmaster, those little reminders that, yes, any one of the fiddle players here could probably make it through the soloist's part.

Of course the rhetoric of the concerto is that the soloist triumphs, but then goes on to make beautiful music with the orchestra anyhow. So, then you have the vanquished troops having to grin and cooperate with the traitor, then to suffer the humiliation of having the soloist take the big bow.

At least with singers the poor musicians have the satisfaction of knowing all along that it is an enemy in their midst, not some turncoat. They fought the battle, and let the Battle win, because everyone knows what musicians can do to an overbearing singer. The singer, if she is to be cast as the winner in this antagonistic role, is best seen as a tamer of savage beasts, or a charmer of vipers, or, yes, even a bullfighter who has encountered a bull that, having had several chances to gore her, decided to cooperate for the good of the faena.

And now you know why singers can be so neurotic.