Communicating with volume

I yelled in an orchestra rehearsal on Wednesday. This isn't an unprecedented occurrence: I usually end up yelling once or twice a year, but I'm not sure I've done it in orchestra lately. It's only ever one word: "Quiet". I'm not sure what caused it to happen the first time, but luckily it hasn't yet lost it's efficacy.

As a general rule, I don't raise my voice. Yelling is something I have a general distaste for in the normal events of a day. I place it on the same shelf with profanity, which is to say that I think it's completely unnecessary in the daily course of life. Using either basically shows that I am over-matched by whatever conversation or argument I'm having.

I suppose I should differentiate between two separate sub-classes of "yelling", too. There's bellowing, in which volume is the primary goal, but then there's also angry conversation wherein the voice is raised to indicate a mood. The strict volume may not be as loud as bellowing, but angry yelling seems to take place at closer ranges, amplifying the effect.

By my own definition, I suppose I should say that I bellowed at the orchestra. We were running on a very tight rehearsal schedule. The director had taken pains to say that we only had 20 minutes to do the next piece, which included getting 30 men onto risers. There were people talking and playing everywhere, even as the concertmistress stood to indicate that tuning should begin. I don't know if people didn't see her, or if she was too passive for people to notice, but the general hubbub wasn't diminishing. And that's a recipe for one of my few pet peeves in rehearsal.

I hate watching people try to gain the attention and silence of large groups of people. I grow more frustrated the longer the attempts to obtain order go along. It literally makes my skin crawl. And sometime two or three years ago, I figured out a way to instantly snap everyone into silence and begin attempts at productivity. I do it by utilizing my physiology and yelling louder than all the rest of the noise in the room.

It's a blunt solution, there's no denying: I'm fighting fire with a flamethrower. And yet, it works every time. Not only that, but it seems to be a complete surprise every time (the shock helps to make the whole thing work). By taking a large breath, as though playing my horn, it's far more air than I need for a normal conversation. That large amount of air allows me to project the command "quiet!" with a serious and sudden volume. It helps that my diction is good, too.

Since I sit at the back, most of the orchestra appears as backs of heads. As soon as I yell, most heads turn quickly, interrupting conversation. I almost never acknowledge that it was I who bellowed, preferring to sit in silence (as example). Into this vacuum, the proper authority figures can resume control.

I'm not sure I've ever yelled in orchestra before. I thought I must have, but many people reacted as if it was the first time they'd heard it. A cello player afterwards asked if I was the one who yelled. When I said yes, he said "That was great!" I'm not quite sure how to take that, but it felt like a compliment. One of the trumpet players agreed that it was very effective, but felt intimidated that I never smiled afterwards. The assistant conductor thought I was now the official orchestra "roadie", keeping the crowds in line.

I think I even yelled in the band I'm not a regular member of a couple of weeks ago, but I don't remember. I suppose it shows how annoying I find it, that I'll even do it in a room filled mostly with people I don't know.

It's the only word I yell in rehearsal, and the only time I yell, too. I'm sure it's not something I'll transfer over to a professional paying performance, but I would hope those would have more disciplined rehearsal ethics, anyway.

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