Concert Observation

Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra play the Fauré Requiem,

conducted by Alexander Mickelthwate

Anatol Rennie - 7653840

March 31st, 2018

On March 24th, the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra performed at the Saint

Boniface Cathedral, under the direction of conductor Alexander Mickelthwate. The

concert opened with Malcolm Forsyth’s 1975 composition Three Métis Songs from

Saskatchewan, featuring soprano Lara Ciekiewicz. Afterwards, the orchestra and

Ciekiewicz were joined by the Winnipeg Philharmonic Choir and organist Wes Elias for a

performance of Francis Poulenc’s Gloria. After intermission, Gabriel Fauré’s stunning

Requiem, op. 48 closed out the program, again featuring the Winnipeg Philharmonic

Choir, Elias, and Ciekiewicz, as well as baritone Matthew Pauls.

This concert was quite varied, giving the opportunity to observe Mickelthwate’s

conducting in a variety of contexts. Three Métis Songs was a relatively short work in

three movements, featuring narrative songs, two of which originated France and

Belgium; the second movement featured lovely solo moments for the harp. Poulenc’s

Gloria was a six-movement work in contrasting sections that lasted around 30 minutes.

Fauré’s sprawling Requiem was quite the tour de force, lasting a full 50 minutes,

covering a range of emotions and variety of orchestration. Because of the smaller-than-

usual space, the conductor was further forward, and the orchestra was laid out in a full

semi-circle around the him, rather than the 150- to 170-degree angle we normally see.
Directly in front of him, the orchestra was spatially compressed, but to his right and left,

the furthest players seemed relatively farther. The choir was standing on risers behind

the orchestra, with the soloists in their usual places.

Mickelthwate tended to value broad, expressive gestures. He was very loose at

the hips, keeping his feet planted, yet remaining free to rotate around when needed.

Most of the time (except in a situation to be described later), his right shoulder seemed

very free. I believe these two facts -- free hips and shoulders -- were because of the

wide conducting window imposed on him by the layout of the orchestra described

above. It allowed the entire orchestra to see his gestures, regardless of sightlines.

I’ve always thought that Mickelthwate’s usual style was more suited to choral

conducting than orchestral conducting; his expressive gestures are sometimes at the

expense of the clarity an orchestra requires. On March 24th, he had the opportunity to

conduct both a choir and orchestra, and it seemed to confirm my hypothesis. In the

first piece, where the choir was not present, he was extremely clear and precise about

his beat patterns and cues. He loosened up when the choir joined for the second and

third selections. The choir seemed quite at ease with his conducting, responding well to

all the cues and dynamic indications. In fact, I noticed that particularly in the Requiem,

Mickelthwate seemed to be primarily conducting the choir, letting the orchestra run on

its own steam. Occasionally, he would point a general cue in their direction when

needed, but he mostly focused on directing the choir, mouthing along all the words and

breathing with them. Of course, his attention would shift back to the orchestra or

soloist when the choir was not singing.

 One cueing technique that Mickelthwate used throughout, particularly in the first

half, struck me as bizarre. He held his left forearm parallel to the ground, with his hand

in a shadow-puppet-like shape; his wrist was bent backwards to an almost 90-degree

angle, so that his hand was perpendicular to the ground, while his outstretched fingers

were parallel to it. He brought his fingers and thumb to a point, and when he needed to

give a cue for staccato chords, he would quickly separate his thumb from his fingers, as

though his shadow puppet were speaking. I tried this motion myself after the concert,

and found that it seemed to create a lot of tension in the extensor digitorum and

extensor carpi ulnaris, two muscles that run along the top of the forearm.1 Were he to

play piano like that, it would be a sure cause of Carpal tunnel syndrome; I assume the

chance of damage would be reduced in this case, as it required less extensive finger

movement. It looked awkward and slightly comical. However, the ensemble stayed

together and hit all the cues, though I think it came down to a well-rehearsed

professional ensemble. I can’t imagine it being particularly useful to a sight-reading

ensemble: although I wasn’t close enough to hear any breath cues, it seemed as

though this gesture had very little preparation to it, save perhaps a slight raising of the

forearm. Furthermore, it wasn’t directed at any particular instrument group.

Another peculiarity that I’ve noticed before that he did again on March 24th is

that his left arm seems to do a two-axis mirror of his right arm when beating in 2. His

right shoulder seems mostly locked, with most of the motion coming from the rotation

1
Oliver Jones, “Muscles in the Posterior Compartment of the Forearm,” Teach Me Anatomy, December
24, 2017, accessed on March 28, 2018, http://teachmeanatomy.info/upper-limb/muscles/posterior-
forearm/. fig. 1.0
of his forearm and elbow. On the downbeat, his right elbow points outward, while his

wrist is at a 45-degree angle to the ground, and bent slightly backwards as he holds the

baton in his fingertips. To get back beat 2, he rotates his elbow and forearm so that the

former points directly down, with his palm facing directly to the left, forearm straight

up. This motion is reversed to get back to beat 1. Meanwhile, in the left hand, the

elbow is out (in line with the body), and the forearm is pointed forward and parallel to

the ground on the downbeat, so that there is a 90-degree bend at the elbow. As the

right hand moves up to beat 2, the left hand and forearm drop until the open palm

faces backwards, as though he were making the “stop” hand signal on a bicycle. Trying

to replicate this motion, I found that the rotation comes mostly from the shoulder.

However, the overall effect of one hand going up while the other comes down does not

really add much in the way of clarity. It certainly looks more effortful and involved,

perhaps in an attempt to convey intensity; it isn’t very graceful. He tended to rely on

this motion during moderate-tempo march-like sections, though I have seen him slow it

down before, used in slower legato passages.

The final critical point I need to mention is Mickelthwate’s placement of the ictus

relative to the beat, an issue I’ve noticed before. Most of the time, he conducts on the

beat, or only slightly ahead of it. However, sometimes, he winds up well ahead of the

beat the orchestra is playing. I know that conducting ahead of the beat is standard

practice in elite orchestras, however my understanding is that the delay between the

ictus and the sounded beat should be fairly consistent throughout the performance.

From what I’ve gathered over the years, the reason for this is twofold: first, it gives the
orchestra advance warning of what is to come; secondly, it allows time for the slow

attack of stringed instruments. As a jazz musician, I’ve always found this practice

particularly bewildering, but it seems almost impossible to follow when the delay

constantly and seemingly unpredictably changes. At the WSO, the difference is

particularly noticeable when the orchestral texture thins out to highlight one or several

solo phrases, as it was in the second movement of Three Métis Songs. He will throw a

cue, and almost a full beat later, the soloist will enter with their line. And yet, in most

(but not all) tutti sections, he locks into the beat again. Not being party to the rehearsal

process, it’s impossible to know whether the blame lies with the conductor or with the

orchestra, or even if it is an expected change.