Editor’s Note: Diana Salesky was the alto soloist in the recent Knoxville Symphony Orchestra performance of Handel’s ‘Messiah’ at the Tennessee Theatre.
There are moments during rehearsals and concerts when one connects with another performer for an instant… a millisecond. And in that musical heartbeat, a world of communication passes between the two. In the twinkling of an eye magic happens.
One such moment occurred for me recently when singing “He shall feed his flock” from Messiah with the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra. I caught Maestro Aram Demirjian’s eye and, wait, was that a tear? Sweat? Stage light glare? I’m not certain. And I will never truly know. But I had just sung “… and gently lead those that are with young…” I know Demirjian is a new father of less than a month. As a mother of over 29 years, those words still bring a tear to my eye. It was certainly possible he was moved by the phrase.
But what’s important is not whether I picked up the right signal or was simply projecting. The beauty of music is that it is open to emotional interpretation. Trained musician or first-time concert goer. Wearer of a three-piece designer suit or ugly Christmas sweater. Believer or skeptic. We all have the capacity to be moved. And nothing moves quite like Messiah.
I say that as the lucky soul who gets to sing “Arise, shine, for thy light is come.” It doesn’t get much better than that. More than perhaps any other musical masterpiece, Messiah is beloved not just because of its astounding music, but because of the story it tells. And there is no story if the audience can’t understand the words. That’s where Demirjian’s emphasis was in rehearsals – on the words.
For those who don’t quite understand what a conductor really does, it’s in rehearsals you find out. More to the point, the words a conductor speaks matter. Every time the conductor puts down the baton and takes a moment away from “playing,” it should make a difference. It should have an impact on the sound, the intensity, the commitment of the performers. And when Demirjian chose to speak, his words made a profound difference, particularly to the wonderful Knoxville Choral Society.
As KCS veteran soprano Kathryn Paden noted, “Perhaps because Maestro Demirjian is a trained choral singer himself, he knows how to model what he wants. His experience as a singer is why we respond to him so well.”
Granted, the most common phrases I heard from Demirjian when speaking to the choir were, “Heads up, faces out,” and “Choir, you’re behind.” I repeat these gentle admonitions with all due respect. There are a lot of sixteenth notes in Messiah and it’s easy to sing straight into your book instead of projecting the sound into the hall. The choir is virtually in another county from a distance perspective – situated well behind the orchestra – so their sound must travel the farthest to reach the conductor, and even farther to reach the audience. They are almost required to sing ahead of the beat. So these are fairly routine reminders choral singers are used to hearing. It was the more subtle ones I found of particular interest.
As Paden noted, “If Maestro says he wants to ‘try something,’ we know it’s going to totally throw us at first. It could be asking us to memorize a certain line or do a physical movement. But there is always a payoff. We’re always better afterwards.”
I noticed this payoff as well. Whenever Demirjian had the choir close their music and look straight at him – “Books down!” – the sound (already very good) got appreciably better. To my mind, those two little words meant so many things: I know you know this. And you know you know this. Now trust yourselves. Speak to the audience. Tell a story. Whether funny, directional, fervent, beseeching, or imploring, Demirjian’s words mattered. And they made a difference.
When speaking to the choir before the haunting choral number “Since by man came death,” Demirjian said, “It’s beautiful, truly, just beautiful. But it’s coming from this world. I don’t want it to come from this world. I want it to come from another world.”
After a few seconds of silence, he tried the phrase again. The choir clearly conveyed what Demirjian wanted. The sound had transformed. It was still beautiful. But now it was a beauty that held pain. The pain of heartbreaking recognition. It was the difference between a baby’s face and the visage of a 90-year-old man who has seen it all. Both beautiful. One clear as glass. One etched with experience.
On a lighter note, when addressing the choir during “And He shall purify,” Demirjian implored, “Rrrrrrighteousness! An offering in rrrrrighteousness!” He then confessed, “I can’t roll my R’s, but I know you can. So do it.” And then, almost as an aside, he added, “It’s unfortunate that I can’t do the roll, because there’s a rolled ‘r’ in my own name.”
Possibly the most beautiful comment Demirjian made was directed to the entire ensemble: “Let’s inhabit the expressive potential of every note – every note.” What a gauntlet to throw down! I’m not sure it’s possible even from musicians of the absolute highest caliber. But what a lofty and ambitious goal.
It was a phrase that could have been demoralizing simply due to its seeming unattainability. But it had the opposite impact and left at least this one singer contemplating how divine music could be if we strove to inhabit the expressiveness of each note. And how we had an opportunity, and an obligation, to express this story to our audience and connect with their souls.
When it comes to making sublime musical connections, one that performers and audiences alike cherish, nothing surpasses Messiah’s iconic ‘Hallelujah’ chorus. For this, Demirjian did what he does best – summoned an electric enthusiasm that seemed to radiate down his arms, through his hands, and directly into the voices of the choir and soloists. Energy begets energy. Exuberance begets exuberance. And connection begets connection. Forever and ever. Amen.
What a wonderful article! You totally capture Aram and what we love about him and how he makes us better performers.
Thank you, Diana, for paying attention to the details that conductors strive to embody and that Aram does so well. This article is a beautiful and thoughtful description of the conductor’s craft.
I love how Diana captures the experience of listening to the conductor and putting his words into action. Choral singing can be one of the most exhilarating experiences in the world, but only if everyone is singing as a cohesive group. Diana gives us a beautifully written glimpse of how it feels to be part of that cohesive experience.
What I’ve noticed over the years of performing with the KSO, both in volunteer and contracted roles, Aram makes EVERYONE on stage feel valued, from the soloists in the front to the choristers and stagehands in the back, and all in between. He knows where everyone should be musically and logistically at all times, and makes everyone has what they need to feel successful. He has been such a treasure to Knoxville!
A well written and insightful article. As a choral singer myself, I have experienced those glorious moments of making shared music. There is nothing like it! And the conductor is the key, the catalyst. I wish I had the opportunity to work with Maestro Demirjian! Knoxville is lucky to have him.
This is my first season to sing with the KCS and Messiah was the first time under maestro’s baton. Reading this article brought back memories because I remember every incident you mentioned. I was mesmerized by watching how he could hear every instrument and knew how to balance all of us together. It is one thing to be able to get everything technically correct and another to make it art. Mr. Demirjian does both very well.