How to Conduct…Yourself

Reuben Stern
February 17, 2022

The world of classical music is a relentlessly public one: much of our time is spent facing other people in rehearsals, performances, teaching, community work, and so forth. My slice of this world, that of orchestral conducting, takes this publicity to an extreme: in all of those public scenarios, you are the center of scrutiny. Even the kindest of musicians are judging your every word and action—not out of malice (hopefully) but because their jobs depend on it. Thus, any off day you might be having will be magnified beyond your control. The orchestra relies on you for near-perfection, or at least so few mistakes that you don’t interrupt or distract. Indeed, the orchestra deserves this from you—they are a group of dozens of ludicrously talented musicians, all putting their gifts together to create something far bigger than the sum of its parts; you have the privilege of being able to lead this magical confluence. 

I struggle with rapid-cycling bipolar type 2, a chronic illness that makes emotional and mental stability for longer than 3-4 weeks a rarity for me. While I have an unbelievable support network of professionals, family, and friends, I still go through episodes—hypomanic and depressive, but mostly depressive—far more frequently than I’d like.

In the 3 years since my diagnosis, I’ve gone through more therapist and medication changes than I can count; sometimes, I had a medication change every three weeks for a prolonged period of time. Also in these 3 years, my career as a conductor has begun to blossom; these developments have often felt at odds with one another. 

For the majority of my musical life, I played bassoon in various orchestras. In that capacity, it was possible for me to find a substitute when I was in a particularly rough place, or push through and just not do as well in a rehearsal. Of course, this was never a good situation to be in, but the show could still go on.

I transitioned into orchestral conducting about two years before I was diagnosed properly with bipolar (I had been in treatment for major depression and anxiety, but somehow it had never occurred to me or my doctors that the cyclic nature of my mental health might be indicative of a different issue…). By an amazing stroke of good fortune, I became music director of a student chamber orchestra that year, and was suddenly responsible for biweekly rehearsals, programming two concerts each semester, grant writing, personnel management, and more. Not showing up was not an option. I was thrilled, humbled, and gratified, but also incredibly nervous that my latent, unnamed illness would prohibit me from being the pillar of support the orchestra needed and deserved.

This worry of mine intensified as I went through some major depressive episodes over a couple of summers and during the season. Somehow, in my three years as music director of that ensemble, I missed only one rehearsal, and that was to attend a cousin’s wedding. Incidentally, this was how I knew conducting was the right career for me: even in my darkest, most turbulent moments, when I couldn’t attend class, complete my schoolwork, or care for myself, I HAD TO conduct. 

But a major question remained: how do I, in my most difficult and terrifying episodes, conduct myself in this difficult professional environment? My closest conducting mentor once told me, as a word of warning, “ours is a lonely profession, full of scrutiny and criticism I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.” Another mentor cautioned me against pursuing professional conducting, not because he didn’t think I had the musical ability, but that I might be too sensitive to develop the thick skin conductors need to have. How terrifying that is to hear! My desire to conduct is what feels like an innate need to be making music in this particular, special way with amazing people surrounding me; that the same sensitivity and emotional vulnerability that drives my musicianship and my love of what I do could be a liability is heartbreaking to me. 

I conduct in part because I want to help bring out the best in people. This is also why I am so vocal about my own struggles with mental illness: so that others may be inspired to get the help they deserve, or to pass that help on to loved ones in need. To be in a position professionally where that may not be reciprocated is a sad prospect, but one I’ve unfortunately felt the need to prepare myself for. 

So, the major question remains: in my times of crisis—which are inevitable—how do I conduct, and how do I conduct myself? What can I do when just making it to rehearsal is an enormous challenge, let alone being as prepared as the group and players deserve from me? I wish I could just shout, “I’m doing the best that I can today! Please be understanding!” but I don’t; that would seem selfish or could lose trust or respect. So, my answer is: I don’t know. As I improve as a conductor, my baseline improves too, so my “bare minimum” is closer and closer to acceptable; but I’m still left wondering how I can be myself—my whole self, chronic illness and all—on and off the podium. In striving to answer that question, I hope that I can help other musicians—instrumentalists, baton-wielders, and more—learn to conduct themselves too.