Why Musicians Enjoy Puns and Quips

By Janet Horvath, Interlude

Musicians, like so many others, enjoy jokes, especially those that are puns related to music, composers, and musicians. Backstage, even onstage during rehearsals, these anecdotes, puns, and gags fly. Perhaps it’s because we spend so much time in a practice room, we get punchy and resort to joking about it. As students we start out with simple short quips:

Why is a piano so hard to open?
Because the keys are on the inside.

What is the difference between a fish and a piano?
You can’t tuna fish.

Want to hear the joke about a staccato?
Never mind. it’s too short.

How do you fix a broken tuba?
With a tuba glue.

While gleaning knowledge of the finer points of theory, as we develop as musicians, and so do our jokes, becoming more sophisticated. Perhaps it’s less likely that the uninitiated will “get” the joke immediately. Like this one:

Arnold Schoenberg walks into a bar, “I’ll have a gin please but no tonic.” 

This jest is a favorite among musicians:

C, E-flat, and G go into a bar. The Bartender says, “Sorry. We don’t serve minors.”

But there’s much more to this story! (With a few additions from me…)

So, E-flat leaves, and C and G have a fifth between them. After a few drinks, the fifth is diminished and G is out flat. F comes in and tries to augment the situation but is not sharp enough. D enters the bar and heads for the bathroom saying, “Excuse me; I’ll just be a second.”

Then A comes in, but the bartender is not convinced that this relative of C is not a minor. Then the bartender notices B-flat hiding at the end of the bar and says, “Get out! you’re the seventh minor I’ve found in the bar tonight!” The bouncer is asked to take a stand, and he doesn’t let the quavers into the bar because they are slurring.

The refrain continues tempo rubato.

E-flat returns the next night, all gussied up, in a three-piece suit with nicely shined shoes. The bartender notices, “You’re looking sharp tonight. Come on in! This could be a major development.” Sure enough, E-flat soon strips taking off his suit and everything else and suddenly he is au natural. Just a second, “says the bartender, “I’m going to prevent you from walking into another bar. That would cause difficult times and lead to repercussions!” The tenor of his remarks is all too clear.

Eventually, C sobers up and realizes in horror that he and E-flat are under a rest. E-flat gets into treble and C is brought to trial, found guilty of contributing to the diminution of a minor, and is sentenced to 10 years D.S. without Coda at an upscale correctional facility. This noteworthy opus is a cue for other minors.

All types of musicians and artists like to mutter wisecracks. American comedian and actor George Carlin came up with a good one:

If lawyers are disbarred and clergymen defrocked. Doesn’t it follow that electricians can be delighted and musicians denoted?

And artists criticizing other artists is not new:

“Wagner has beautiful moments but bad quarters of an hour.” Gioachino Rossini.

“A gentleman is someone who knows how to play the banjo – and doesn’t” Mark Twain.

Several of the conductors I have worked with wouldn’t hesitate to tell a few good jokes. Leonard Slatkin loved to tell stories and Neville Marriner engaged in plenty of practical jokes. I recall a children’s concert when we played Manuel de Falla’s Three Cornered Hat. Instead of a baton he whipped out a long-legged rubber chicken and proceeded to conduct waving the prop. Most of the orchestra lost their grip. 

But musicians love to poke fun at conductors. This “accusation” is a case in point, from The Onion, “America’s Finest News Source,” “maintaining a towering standard of excellence,” and notorious for their satirical articles:

Philharmonic Orchestra Conductor Receives 8-Concert Suspension For Using Corked Baton
Published June 15, 2022

BOSTON—An investigation into the musician’s suspiciously powerful work concluded Tuesday as Boston Philharmonic Orchestra conductor William Ness reportedly received an eight-concert suspension for using a corked baton. “We have a zero-tolerance policy against cheating, and Mr. Ness knew that, which is why we believe that a long suspension that will cause him to miss the summer concert series in the park is necessary to ensure we maintain integrity in our philharmonics,” said National Orchestra Association spokesperson Leonid Radzinsky, adding that Ness had been under investigation after an anonymous member of a competing orchestra alleged that the maestro’s baton sounded corked as it whirled through the air. “We’re disappointed that it had to come to an investigation, but Mr. Ness’ recent sharp increase in keeping the woodwinds coherent and controlling the volume of the timpani did raise some eyebrows.

Normally you don’t see that much of a leap in precision unless the baton’s been tampered with to become lighter. We can’t end up in a situation where an audience member questions whether a conductor bringing in the cello section at the perfect time is due to skill alone or due to modifications that give them an unfair advantage. We need to ensure that the product we offer our fans is above suspicion…”

We musicians, although we’re very serious about our music-making and the dedication it takes to be successful in this wonderful field, can’t help these moments of levity. Who can?

Arnold Schoenberg - His Music and His Life

Arnold Schoenberg (September 13, 1874 - July 13, 1951) was one of the founders of musical Modernism, an incredibly influential figure from the early twentieth century to at least twenty-five years after his death – with Stravinsky, one of the two most influential composers of his time. Even those fundamentally antithetical to atonality were moved to see musical aesthetics very much as he did. As a composer, Schoenberg largely taught himself, sometimes relying on the advice of his friend, the composer Alexander von Zemlinksy. Zemlinsky's sister Mathilde became Schoenberg's first wife. The marriage came close to foundering when Mathilde left Schoenberg for an artist. She returned, but the marriage never recovered. Nevertheless, when she died in 1923, Schoenberg was devastated. Still, he remarried quickly, this time choosing the sister of the violinist Rudolf Kolisch, Gertrud. It was a love match.

From the early twentieth century, Schoenberg was considered a leading light of the younger generation, attracting the attention of no less than Gustav Mahler. He kept up a steady stream of composition, extending the language of the day as well as striking out in new directions. However, in 1912, he underwent an artistic crisis and for close to a decade completed no major new piece. For most of these years, he made very little money, mainly from private teaching, although he had achieved international fame. During World War I, he was rejected from military service for health reasons. However, his students were called up, and he had to stop teaching for a time.

The Twenties saw a change in his fortunes. He began to compose again, this time in a new compositional language he had worked out, which he called "the method of composing with twelve tones" – what today is known as dodecaphonic serialism. He founded the Union for Private Performance, a subscription organization dedicated to new music and intended only for interested parties, rather than for the general public. Orchestral works were given in chamber arrangements, and the composers played included Claude Debussy, Mahler, and even Charles Ives. He received conducting engagements in major European music centers, as well as several honors in Germany and in Austria. He was put in charge of the composition master class at the Berlin Academy of Art and elected (supported by Kurt Weill) to the Prussian Academy.

When the Nazis came to power in 1933, Schoenberg left Germany for France and, later, the United States, where he eventually settled in the Los Angeles area in 1934. Schoenberg, of Jewish family, had converted to Protestantism in 1898, but he never was formally religious. Nevertheless, he saw the swastika on the wall and got out – surprising, when one considers his unworldliness in practical matters. He also formally converted back to Judaism, mostly as a protest against anti-Semitism. He became a professor at UCLA and an influential teacher in the country. For composers, southern California became a major musical center, mainly because Schoenberg taught there. However, the United States proved hard ground for his music. His health, never robust, deteriorated sharply. Nevertheless, he felt so out of place that as late as the Forties, he still considered leaving for somewhere else. Health problems forced him to resign his academic appointment, and he and his family lived on his small pension. To make ends meet, he resumed giving private lessons. The circumstances of earning a living as well as extremely high artistic ambition kept his output small – only fifty opus numbers. He died in 1951.

Schoenberg began plying the post-Wagnerian super-chromaticism typical of Vienna in the mid-to-late 1890s. The music is tonal, but highly chromatic. Major works include the String Quartet #1 (1904), the Chamber Symphony #1 (1906), the lush choral Friede auf Erden (1907), the string sextet Verklärte Nacht (1899; probably his most popular piece), and the massive, Mahlerian Gurre-Lieder (1900-1911). Toward the end of the decade, he began to move toward a free atonality – that is, music with no key center, usually exhibiting an Expressionist aesthetic. The String Quartet #2 (1908) is literally a transitional work – the early movements in the older style, the final movements in the new. Other highpoints from this time include the song cycleDas Buch der hängenden Gärten (1909), the mini-operas Erwartung (1909) and Die glückliche Hand (1910-1913), 5 Orchestral Pieces (1909), and Pierrot lunaire (1912). In many of these works, Schoenberg not only tests and throws away tonality, but defines modern orchestration, especially in the 5 Orchestral Pieces and in Pierrot lunaire.

In the Twenties, Schoenberg produces scores in his dodecaphonic serial method. About this, many writers, pro and con, have misinformed their readers and missed the point of Schoenberg's achievement. Fundamentally, it's a very simple idea. A composer arranges the twelve notes of the chromatic scale in an order of his choosing. This arrangement is called the row, or series (hence, "serial"). Everything that happens in a classically-dodecaphonic score depends on this order, although certain manipulations are allowed: you can transpose the row to begin on another note but keep the intervals, play it backwards, play it upside-down, and play it backwards and upside-down. You can even break the row up into two, three, or four parts and manipulate each of the parts. It sounds easy to the point of simple-minded, but its very conceptual simplicity made it an extremely flexible and powerful compositional tool. It makes no sense to consider all twelve-tone music as monolithic, any more than it makes sense to treat all traditionally tonal music as the same. Good composers have their own personalities and their own sounds. It is no more difficult to distinguish Schoenberg from Berg than to pick out Haydn from Mozart. It comes down to an experienced ear. Serial Stravinsky doesn't differ all that much from tonal Stravinsky. Schoenberg's procedures don't lead all by themselves to the New Jerusalem, and to Schoenberg's credit, he never claimed that they did. Composers still need the poetry and vision they always needed. According to Schoenberg himself: "Of course, a soul you have to have." His own masterpieces of this period include the Wind Quintet (1924), 3 Satires (1925), Variations for Orchestra (1926), the Third and Fourth String Quartets (1927, 1934), the grand opera Moses und Aron (1932), and the Violin Concerto (1936). In the late Thirties, Schoenberg began to seek a stronger rapprochement with the German classical tradition, writing pieces that made analogies to sonata form, for example, as in the Piano Concerto of 1942, the String Trio (1946), and the choral Dreimal tausend Jahre and De Profundis (1949, 1950).

One should also note that Schoenberg sprinkled "wrong pieces" throughout these phases. For example, he never gave up writing tonal music even after he came up with his serial technique. He was blest with a powerful talent for harmony – indeed, one of the great ears of Western music. Such scores include the tender Weihnachtsmusik (1921), 3 Folksongs (1930), the cello and string quartet concerti (both from 1933), the magnificent Suite in G (1934), the Chamber Symphony #2 (1916; 1939), and the Theme and Variations for Band (1943).

Why did Schoenberg feel compelled to pursue thorny paths? He believed that the harmonic freedom of the late Nineteenth Century had led to a crisis in compositional form. The traditional classical forms – sonata, rondo, scherzo and trio, and so on – depended on the establishment of a key center and a modulation or change to another key center in order to articulate structural components. If you had an A-B-A form, for example, changes of key would mark the beginning of the B section and the return of the A. However, music after Wagner tended to change key far more often than the music before. Indeed, keys morphed so quickly, that it was hard to say whether a key had even been established. No established key meant that structural boundaries blurred, and the listener got lost in an aural swamp. Schoenberg's solution was to find principles of organization other than tonality. By removing tonality, Schoenberg also emphasized the independence of each musical line and the importance of a set of intervals, rather than what most listeners thought of as themes. It was a radically new way of perceiving music, while remaining curiously faithful to fundamental principles of the classical tradition. Indeed, one can view Schoenberg's compositional method as remarkably similar to Beethoven's. One also grasps an emotional complexity – from the same intellectual milieu as Freud, Benjamin, Schiele, and Kokoschka, especially in works like Moses und Aron, the Piano Concerto, and the gripping A Survivor from Warsaw (1947).

I must admit, however, that many listeners don't see things in this way. Schoenberg's music has the same appeal to the general public as broccoli to a six-year-old. On the other hand, one must also admit that most people haven't heard anywhere near all of Schoenberg's catalogue and very often a work not more than once. Furthermore, until recently, good performances have been few and far between. It took even professionals decades to grasp this music. Pioneering recordings, like those of Robert Craft, notable mainly for the fact that they exist at all, have been superseded by those of a younger generation. Schoenberg is gradually becoming less a twelve-tone composer and more a great one. ~ Steve Schwartz