For Score and Many Years Ago

I was in 10th grade when I bought my first orchestra score. The year was 1957, and I had gone on a music hunt with a friend to downtown Philadelphia from Upper Darby, Pa., where I grew up. We walked from a subway stop to the famous Leary’s music bookstore at 9th and Market.

On one of the upper floors--above the records, above the listening rooms and the piano rooms, where people could try out music by playing it (only accomplished musicians dared)--there were acres and acres of music scores.

I found a Kalmus miniature orchestra score of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony (“Pastorale”). It was a little paperback book about 5 inches wide and 5 inches high. It cost 60 cents.

The Beethoven Sixth had been magic ever since I had seen Disney’s animated centaurs and unicorns, thunder-hurling Zeus and scurrying bacchants dancing to this music in “Fantasia.”

At the time, I didn’t realize that “Fantasia” actually savages the music. The movie starts with the 138-bar exposition, where the main themes are stated, then jumps right to the coda, where everything is summed up. It cuts nearly 300 measures of Beethoven. . . . That was one of the things I was to learn.

So I dug out my change, paid the cashier and took home a treasure. I forgot that I didn’t know how to read an orchestra score.

I could read music. We had music education in grade school in those days, and everybody sang or played something. Besides, reading music isn’t that hard. I knew what notes and their values were, what clefs and time signatures were.

But there was a lot more to this.

For one thing, the instruments seemed to be playing in different keys. The symphony is in F major, so what were those clarinets doing playing in G and horns playing in C?

If I had been in band instead of chorus, I would have known.

Clarinets and horns are transposing instruments. B-flat clarinets sound a major second lower than written. So if you want them to play an F, you write a G.

Similarly, horns in F sound a fifth lower than written. So if you want them to play an F, you write a C.

I had to find a reference book that explained this. Another trip to Leary’s. The score is written this way for the convenience of the players, even though it makes the conductor’s job harder.

Lesson Two was in languages. I learned new words--flauti, oboi, clarinetti, fagotti, corni, trombe, tromboni and violino. These Italian terms for instruments were pretty obvious. The challenge increased when I found German-based editions: floten, hoboen, klarinetten, fagotte, horner, trompeten and--my favorite--pauken (for timpani).

I was on my way to an international education. Time for a closer look at the beast itself.

Scores are printed with the wind parts on top, the brass right below them, percussion below them and string parts--the foundation of the orchestra--from high to low at the bottom.

Knowing where to look is important. The strings play almost all the time. The violins, in particular, can almost always be followed.

I put on a record of the symphony, turned to Page One and began to follow the first violin part.

I got lost real fast.

So I started over. And over . . .

Each time, I was able to get just a little farther before getting lost. It was a long time, though, before I could keep up with all those fleet quarter notes in the scherzo. How could musicians play that fast, I wondered.

Soon I grew more confident. I began to let my focus shift and my eyes take in some wind and brass parts. The process was like learning to drive: First you fixate on the spot directly in front of you out of fear of hitting someone or losing your way; slowly, you relax and include more from the periphery, letting your eyes move around. You know where you are and how to find your place if you get lost. Same with following a score.

Still, you will get lost.

Why bother with all this? Can’t you enjoy, love and be moved by music without reading it? Of course. But as you find out more about what’s going on, your appreciation and pleasure will increase.

Your mind will be engaged and, with your intellect busy, you will find your unconscious more directly involved. At the least, you will see the real shape and length of themes. You will notice details, patterns and relationships you otherwise probably would not have. You will discover the wit, economy and craft in the writing.

You may savor a particular event and notice how it is put together. You may wonder what difference it would make if a flute didn’t play along with the strings.

In the Beethoven Sixth, for instance, 20 measures into the opening, two bassoons suddenly play along with the strings for just one bar and an eighth note. Do you hear the difference? Yes. Does it make a difference? Yes.

And isn’t it weirdly wonderful that music that affects so directly comes out of little inky marks on a printed page?

Or does it? Soon, by comparing different recordings or attending different concerts, you’ll find out how much conductors can vary in interpreting the same symbols.

You can find scores in lots of bookstores or follow them (or print them out) from some CD-ROMs.

A few weekends ago, I found a Crantz miniature score of Beethoven’s “Name-Day” Overture in a close-out bin at a Valley music store. The price: 40 cents. I don’t even have that music, but I couldn’t pass this up.