the hardest triangle note in the Universe
Most people don’t believe me when I tell them how much variability there is among the possible sounds one can make with a triangle. But percussionists with even the slightest bit of orchestral training know this to be the case. They also know that the hardest thing on the instrument isn’t fancy tricks for playing specific numbers of grace notes with thoughtful emphases on micro-phrasing, it’s placement in ambiguous sections of music.
There are surely many examples but the one which haunted me for years was a single note in Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé: Suite II. Bar 192, coming out of the massive rallentando with the seductive, tantalising violin solo, the bit where the entire orchestra slows to a pace slower than the mature tourist who nearly tripped over his walking sticks who I dodged in the market today.
It’s the note that you have to place in time with the cymbal player, and kind of with the conductor who waits what always feels like aeons (but is probably actually 1 or 2 seconds) before placing it, but you can’t quite play it with the stick because the rest of the orchestra never does that, so you have to anticipate how long they’ll be delayed by, but also play a little bit early (but not right with the stick! despite what conductors insist on! that’s still too early!) to account for the speed of sound as it travels to the front of the stage. You also can’t really look at the cymbal player because you have to stare down the conductor, and you’ve got no visuals on the woodwinds (they blow air into a tube… impossible to see). It’s the note that, when placed correctly, unlocks a fountain of woodwind and harp arpeggiations that mark the precursor to the juicy groovy sections (you know: the rest of the piece where the percussion is easy and the clarinet rips).
If you’re still unsure what I’m talking about, it’s this note:
You may have even missed it in that video because it’s damn quiet. I assure you it’s there and it’s important. When this note gets nailed in a performance of Daphnis, this results in what is called “Ultimate Placement Satisfaction,” or UPS. This is kind of like an orgasm in the context of playing orchestral music.
This is the hardest triangle note I’ve ever played, and I’ve had some excellent opportunities to do it with reputable ensembles. It never got easier.
I first played it with Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla conducting the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire in our Royal Opening Gala where a prince showed up. I’d call this a solid conservatoire ensemble with a world-class conductor, so it should have been reasonably easy. It never was. I never quite got it. One time (this was probably the gig) I even screwed the cymbal player by making a prep movement (that he was relying on to play together) but hesitating a bit because the music was changing. Flam.
I replayed this moment in my head for weeks. I was convinced I was an awful musician because of this performance – how could I possibly have screwed up a single note? It’s not a Xenakis multi-percussion solo. It’s a triangle note.
It bothered me to the extent that I laid it into a composition of mine: Minister of Loneliness. This was a duo of multi-percussion and double bass, and I threw in an homage to the Ravel violin solo (aka I copied it) in the bass part and wrote a cymbal to triangle flam in the percussion part, exactly how it happened live. When I played this music to a much more experienced composer friend, he somehow found that moment the most engaging part of the whole piece. I don’t think he cared that it was a flam.
The next time I played that triangle part was a gig with the San Diego Symphony, Rafael Payare conducting. Better orchestra, better conductor. I was stoked and terrified at my opportunity for redemption.
I studied the score until I memorised it. I listened to loads of ensembles playing it so I could anticipate all the possible interpretations. Plus, I had already played it live; I came prepared.
First rehearsal: the note was coming and my heart rate was probably inching into Zone 5. Imperfect. Didn’t nail it. No problem: another shot or two in rehearsals and two gigs over the weekend remained. Still plenty of chances for UPS.
I probably got it once or twice in rehearsals, which is great for not being thrown off the sub list, but so what? Who cares? The real tests would be the gigs.
After gig uno (you guessed it: I didn’t nail it), we went out to dinner as a percussion section. I revealed my insecurities about this note. This was where I learned the truth about it: it’s not me, it’s the note! These guys agreed that this was one of the hardest notes in the repertoire! It turned out I wasn’t a shit percussionist just because I couldn’t crack this thing!
They threw forward a few tips and I implemented them. Inching closer but yet to achieve UPS. Otherwise, the revelation from that dinner couldn’t really solve the problem of execution, it just made me feel vindicated in my fear of that note.
The morning of the final gig arrived. This was probably my last chance ever to nail this thing. Pressure and nerves were high, but I was as prepared as one could be. I knew the conductor by now, I knew the other players, and I knew my section was rooting for me: this was the ideal scenario.
The gig was on. The music was lush and cooling and everything it ought to be. The note was coming, and I was present-listening-focused-attentive. I remembered every tip I was told and every detail I needed to know about that ensemble and context and venue. Heart racing, deepening, rising (even as I write this, my heart is doing the same… the body remembers). Violin solo going, going, rallentando slowing, slowing, and…
and…
ding.
I saw Eddie who was stationed on glockenspiel in front of me extend his hand and wiggle his fingers in a silent wave. What did that mean?!? Fuzzy? Good? It didn’t feel right.
After the gig we were in the percussion room packing away, chatting. Eddie was congratulatory: I did it. He said it was perfect: every piece of the puzzle came together: the cymbals, woodwinds… lift off.
But… somehow, I didn’t feel it? It didn’t sound right from my vantage point. I can still visualise that moment: the Rady Shell in my periphery, the movement of the beater towards and away from the gold hand-hammered Black Swamp prototype I was playing. I can see Eddie’s hand wave as if he’s somehow right here right now where I’m sitting in Greenwich, London, in a library. But, it didn’t feel like UPS.
This is what it feels like to be a musician
.
I liked this.