Probably since the first time I hired a dinner jacket for my first solo concert with a semi-professional orchestra as a teenager, I have been wondering at the curious ways that classical musicians dress for the concert platform. I know I’m not alone in wondering.
Dressing for dinner was something that my teacher Bernard Shore did every evening before he sat down to eat with his wife. My lessons would often close with the words, “I’m so sorry Roger, but I must get dressed for dinner.” Given that in my opinion he was already impeccably dressed, and never without a tailored jacket, tie, and pressed trousers, he clearly meant to don a dinner jacket and black tie. It was an indicator of his upbringing as a respectable Edwardian gentleman.
By the time I reached the Royal College of Music some concerts, particularly String Quartet concerts, required tails for the boys and long dresses for the girls. Acquiring a tail coat that fitted was a challenge. Too tight and you couldn’t play; too loose and you looked like a penguin whose food source had experienced an extinction event. There is a question arising:
Why in the 21st century are male musicians, or those that identify as male, wearing 18th century riding dress? Leaving that tantalising question aside for moment, should we be wearing a uniform at all?
What are the pre-requisites for any uniform, if a uniform is required? What IS a uniform? The word indicates similarity, perhaps even a sameness of appearance. A uniform does away with individuality as expressed by the manner in which a person dresses. An example is a school uniform, and whether to have one or not has given rise to furious arguments. I think one of the most sensible that I’ve heard was that if you went to an old fashioned “Grammar School” the pupils would have been drawn from every socio-economic background in the community. Naturally, those parents that had a lot of money would likely spend it dressing their children well, or at least with an eye to quality. Those who had little… it would likely show in the way their children were clothed. Thus a class structure, an awareness of the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’ would make its unwelcome way into the class room. Insisting on a school uniform immediately solved the problem.
When joining a group of musicians, as a member of an orchestra or even a small chamber group, we are all participating in an hallowed endeavour: To bring to life a work of art that is, with its profound complexity and magnificence, one of the best indicators of a civilisation (to quote Rowan Atkinson when he introduced his 70th birthday party guests to an actual orchestra which was about to play a concert especially for them). The collaboration required to achieve this requires an extraordinary degree of skill… that goes without saying… but also a uniformity of purpose. There, that word again... uniform. And I don’t see anything particularly wrong or inappropriate or self-effacing if a musician happily marks themselves out as a part of, a willing participant in such a spectacular endeavour by dressing as if they belong to it. Their need to shine as individuals is put to one side for the sake of the power, greater than the sum of the parts, of the corporate body. If they are unwilling to do that, they should probably think about training for another job. If they stay, they will be what we used to call a wrecker.
Not being remotely qualified to say anything about the history of fashion and what may be acceptable or offensively anachronistic to an afficionado, I think I can say that I don’t really care very much what any uniform consists of, providing it suits the purpose, is practical, and can look cared for, as in: The wearer feels pride when wearing it and therefore takes care of it!
I can, however, offer two possible alternatives to 18th riding dress, both tried and tested. There have been other options attempted for orchestras and chamber groups, but there has always been a curious and slightly embarrassing dearth of good arguments for them when after a while just a very few people have raised objections. They’ve experienced a quiet passing. The whisper might be: What on earth were we thinking?!
When I joined the Nash Ensemble in the late 70s, the uniform for the boys was a black velvet jacket with black dinner suit trousers, white dress shirt and black velvet bow tie. It was comfortable, reasonably lightweight, didn’t crease in the suitcase, and required no extra bits and pieces. However odd the build of the player, no unfortunate trait seemed exaggerated. But for some reason black velvet jackets experienced a moment of… passé-ness. The wearers lost confidence. I am therefore now smiling ruefully having noticed their reappearance in up-market shops. Fashion returns…. just wait it out for long enough.
The second example: One winter morning on the 06:40 from Euston to Manchester I was head down, needle and thread in hand, sowing a stray button back onto my overcoat. An older gentleman walked slowly past me, turned his head, paused, and with great dignity said: You might have used the right coloured thread!
It was an irresistible moment. “Please do sit down,” I said, indicating the empty seat opposite me. Immaculately attired, a beautiful coat, three piece suit complete with gold watch chain, he sat and introduced himself as Monty Moss, of Moss Bros., the clothing hire firm. The conversation, you can imagine, had to touch upon what he… and if he was not the final arbiter of dress codes, at least we can grant him the right to an opinion!… thought musicians ought to wear on the concert platform other than 18th century riding dress.
He thought, chin in hand, and eventually pronounced, “You know, I don’t think the snooker boys have got it so wrong.” My eyebrows rose. “You mean… waistcoats?”
“Yes”, said Monty Moss. “They are uniform, perfectly smart enough, comfortable, but above all, practical. And they can be worn by the girls too.”
And, I thought, could be customised to suit the colour taste of the wearer without compromising the uniformity. Black trousers for the boys would stay. For the girls, black tights or leggings with an optional three quarter length sheer black skirt. Or indeed trousers. White shirts for all. Anybody and everybody could look ravishing.
I took the idea back to the London Chamber Orchestra. We had a large number of waistcoats designed and made for us. The newspapers had a ball of course. “Selling music by sex?” (The girls did look ravishing.) Yes, I suppose we were. But no, we weren’t! It was modest attire, but left the players free to move (we always played standing up) and the audience was excited. The girls who felt confident could eschew the black skirt, those who didn’t could wear it.
I noticed with some satisfaction that we did indeed start a not-so-short-lived international trend. Or, we should say, Monty Moss spoke, and his words were heard.
I have no idea why it isn’t still commonplace, and why many have reverted to 18th century riding dress.
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