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Patrick Tice-Carroll

Professor Peter Reynolds

American Musical Theater

09 December 2019

Orchestrators: The Unsung Heroes of Drama

The 57th Tony Awards in 2003 has become infamous in niche circles of musical theater

followers all because of a general misunderstanding of one relatively-new award. First given out

in 1997, the Tony Award for Best Orchestration recognizes the work of orchestrators for

musicals and plays. The problem, however, is that most people have no idea what an orchestrator

does or what their contribution is to the creation of a piece of theater. One of the shows

represented in the Tonys in 2003 was ​Movin’ Out​, a musical based on the songs of Billy Joel.

The show won the Tony Award for Best Orchestration, the award only introduced five years

earlier, but the award was shared with Billy Joel, who had nothing to do with the orchestrations.

So why, then, would the creator of the source material be given a Tony Award for something he

did not do? Simply put, it is because the Tony Award committee remained unaware of what an

orchestrator’s role is, and in doing so, has missed out on truly recognizing the dramatic weight

and sparkle that orchestrations add to a score and, by extension, the piece as a whole.

In order to examine the dramatic influence and power that comes from orchestration, one

must first understand what an orchestrator does and how they fit into the development of a piece

of theater. The orchestrations of a show constitute the writing and arrangement of orchestra parts

for a show, either drawn from the composer’s manuscript or drawn on thematic material in a

creation solely of the orchestrator. Nearly every musical features some type of orchestration
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– the very few number of musicals written specifically for piano and piano alone can tend to feel

empty, incomplete, and lacking the heft that audiences have come to expect from a musical

score. Even in musicals written for only two instruments, like the case with ​The Fantasticks

(scored only for piano and harp), there is still a storytelling that comes from the interaction of the

two instruments, and in the context of the piece as a whole, this intricate intimacy heightens the

drama and draws the audience into the world of the show.

During the development of a new musical, the composers will provide, either through

their own doing or by way of an arranger, a piano-vocal score that encapsulates the essence of a

piece of music. These scores are typically what is played in the rehearsal room and during

developments, and it can be heavily cued, meaning that instrumental musical phrases are

indicated in addition to the piano parts, or it can be completely devoid of such markings. Because

the composer has to deal primarily with rewrites, new material, and the process “in the room,”

they often do not have enough time to write out the show for a pit orchestra to play by the start of

previews, especially with a rehearsal process that lasts anywhere from four to eight weeks. The

writers will turn over their material to an orchestrator or team of orchestrators who are

responsible for delineating the notes from the piano-vocal score to each of the members of the

orchestra. This task extends far beyond note copying, as the orchestrator is responsible for

creating the sonic landscape that the show exists in, often also contributing countermelodies,

recurring motives, entire cues of incidental music, dance arrangements, and an overture. The

magic and sparkle of ​Wicked​ or the pulsing backbeats of ​Hamilton​ would never have existed

without the work of an orchestrator (Bill Brohn and Alex Lacamoire, respectively) creating them

from a mere piano part.

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While the task of writing orchestra parts can seem rudimentary in its concept, the real

show of a brilliant orchestrator comes in writing parts that work for the ensemble at hand and

that consistently compliment and comment on the action that is happening on stage above. The

orchestras of early musical theater up through the Golden Age typically consisted of a prominent

string section, woodwind doublers (meaning the instrumentalists play multiple instruments, up to

seven or more in one part in extreme situations), a brass section, and a rhythm section. This

enormous scope of sonic possibility gave a massive palette of aural color that an orchestrator

could use to shape the emotional arc of a piece of music. In listening to some of the hallmark

pieces of musical theater of the time, such as Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein’s

Oklahoma! (​ 1943)​ ​and ​Carousel ​(1945), the range of sonic textures becomes apparent. We are

transported from a theater on a busy Manhattan block to the Midwest, full of hoedowns and

lively dances, but also bringing with it the sophistication and complexity of classical composition

and melodrama. The composer’s touch to the music comes in the catchy melodies that each of

the characters sing, but the orchestrator’s role is harnessing the musicians they are given and

translating that to the dramatic action and placement on stage.

Don Walker was one of the most prominent orchestrators of Broadway music during the

1940s and ‘50s, scoring ​Carousel​, ​Finian’s Rainbow,​ ​The Pajama Game​, ​The Music Man,​

Fiddler on the Roof​, ​Cabaret,​ and many more such hits. This time period, ushering in the Golden

Age of musical theater, also proved to be a transitional time for orchestration. There was a

greater focus placed on the artistry that is now inherent in orchestration, one that follows the

same character development and thematic motion of the show, now represented in the orchestra.

Aural trademarks that were remnants of the time of opera and operetta, such as violins and light
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woodwinds (flutes, clarinets, etc.) constantly doubling the melody, began to fade out of fashion,

paving the way to leave more space for dynamic fills and countermelodies that responded to the

action on stage, not just doubling it. Don Walker, along with other orchestrators of the time, such

as Robert Russell Bennett (​Show Boat,​ ​Girl Crazy​, ​Of Thee I Sing​, ​Anything Goes​, ​Oklahoma​,

South Pacific,​ ​The King and I​), showed that successful orchestration is just as important to

storytelling as the story itself.

Walker’s scores are like the textbook definitions of successful orchestration in the context

of a Broadway musical. One such example, “Joey, Joey, Joey,” from a show he worked on

entitled ​The Most Happy Fella,​ highlights Walker’s unusual size of orchestra for this particular

show, but also depicts how he uses every inch of real estate to compliment the song and the

dramatic action. In his essay, “​An Examination of Don Walker's Style of Orchestration…,” Peter

Purin writes:

Walker chose a much fuller ensemble to score ​The Most Happy Fella.​ Because of this, he

was able to provide distinct colors for many important motives…[in “Joey, Joey, Joey”]

The first statement of the chorus melody features harp glissandos and triplet patterns of

woodwinds in thirds that perhaps represent the wind that “sings” to Joe. In the next

repetition of the chorus, an English horn solo provides the countermelody. The final

chorus features a rapidly moving celeste, with the effect of evoking an even more distant,

soft wind blowing behind a ​ppp sotto voce​ Joe. It is as though the wind’s message to Joe

is changing in each repetition, augmenting the dramatic idea of Joe being a drifter. (Purin

47-50)
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It is important to note that, while Purin’s writing can borderline on overly theoretical, each

analysis of Walker’s orchestration is followed by a dramatic representation of what the orchestra

is doing in the context of the moment. The orchestra’s role is not just to accompany the voice or

voices singing, but also to provide a context for the audience to clue into so they can better

understand the emotional state of the characters, as well as their motivations and actions behind

certain things that they do.

While it is important to recognize the dramatic conversation that is had between the

actors on stage and the orchestra below, it is also important for that conversation to not block the

way of the storytelling. Following Don Walker in the next generation of Broadway orchestrators

is Jonathan Tunick, one of the greatest living orchestrators of musical theater. Tunick is best

known for his many collaborations with Stephen Sondheim, starting with ​Company​ in 1970 and

continuing through current revivals of shows such as ​Sweeney Todd​ in 2012 and ​Passion​ in

2013. While he was not Sondheim’s sole collaborator (Michael Starobin orchestrated shows such

as ​Sunday in the Park with George ​and ​Assassins​), Tunick had a large part in creating the allure

and totally new sound that Sondheim was creating in the 1970s and on.

Tunick’s orchestrations, as he explains, are based not just on his conversations with

Sondheim and with his own personal tastes and styles, but rather including all aspects of the

production. “I’m also orchestrating the choreography and the lighting. The orchestration adds

another element to all those other elements, and in order for it to take its place among them, the

orchestrator has to know what they are, not just the notes, not just what you hear. I’m only

talking about the theatre, you understand” (Flahaven, 18). As musical theater stands as one of the

most collaborative of all art forms, it makes sense that the orchestrations must also play into the
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rest of the production because each of those elements are there to add more depth and meaning to

the story that the actors bring to life.

It should be evident that a nearly fifty year collaboration with arguably the greatest

composer of musical theater should be a sign that someone is doing their job right. Tunick, while

notorious for not always being the nicest guy in the room, has no doubt defined an era of

orchestration that modern writers now look back on to draw inspiration and example for their

own creation.

Steven Suskin, among his accounts of early Broadway orchestrators, including Don

Walker, an expanded section on the work of Mr. Tunick. Looking specifically at Tunick and

Sondheim’s second collaboration, the 1971 musical ​Follies,​ there are several examples where the

orchestration is able to key into the audience where the action is taking place and where the

sentiments are going:

“I’m Still Here” is a powerhouse character study. The singer, a survivor, cycles through

moods of rueful nostalgia, determination, frustration, anger, resentment, and finally sheer,

gutsy tenacity...Tunick, cannily, chooses the bass clarinet, with embellishment form the

clarinets above: the sound of the dance bands of the thirties and early forties...This is

when Carlotta [who sings “I’m Still Here”]—the gal who’s “still here”—was in her

element. While...​Follies​ takes place “at the present time,” the reed writing takes Carlotta

back to the days when she was still in her prime. This is a subtle touch; while few

theatregoers would have actually picked up on it, many of those over forty would have

been subconsciously transported back in time with the character” (Suskin 279).
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Suskin touches on a particularly important point in that orchestrations have the power to not only

clue into the world that the actors are inhabiting, but also transport the audience into this world

and clue back to different parts of the shared experience that help deepen the meaning of the

piece and aid in the audience’s connection and understanding of it.

Sean Patrick Flahaven, in ​The Sondheim Review​, also brings up several examples of how

Tunick’s orchestrations, while modest, function so well in the context of drama. In the song

“Send in the Clowns” from Sondheim’s enrapturing 1973 musical ​A Little Night Music​, Tunick

begins the song not with a lush instrumental introduction, but rather a lone clarinet coming from

nothing. The simplicity and restraint shown in this choice underlines Tunick’s entire premise of

orchestration: the story comes first. While he could have shown off his writing chops with

beautiful counterpoint and complex harmony, he rather approached his work first by looking at

what the actors were doing and then modelling that behavior in his writing.

Still in the same decade, Tunick and Sondheim collaborate on yet another piece, ​Sweeney

Todd​ in 1979, and again we get wonderful examples of how his orchestration is used not only to

define a piece in the moment, but also foreshadow the drama that is to follow. This concept, as

well as most of the music and form of the show, draws on traditions found in late nineteenth

century opera from Richard Wagner, who pioneered the use of recurring motives to inform of the

action on stage and also foreshadow action that had yet to come. Towards the end of the show,

Tobias, a young child who has taken refuge in Mrs. Lovett, sings to her a sort of lullaby in “Not

While I’m Around.” His accompaniment from Tunick is lulling and peaceful, leaving room for

the text to shine while it is commented on by wind writing that heightens the emotion. As Suskin

explains, “The first refrain is sung by the half-witted boy, Tobias; when the murderous Mrs.
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Lovett sings her section, the sweet flute joins her but the violins play eerily off-pitch. Tunick’s

orchestration clearly informs us of the lyric’s false promise; within twenty minutes, Lovett will

be baking in the oven, marked with a ‘T’” (Suskin 289). While wholly gruesome, this example

shows perfectly how the composer and bookwriter’s intent is given solely to the orchestrator to

handle. Without this nuance from the writing, this foreshadowing would be completely lost, and

the complex dynamic that exists between the two characters because of it would be diminished.

It also helps that Tunick is writing orchestrations over some of the most enduring

melodies that have been written in the world of musical theater. As Steven Suskin writes in his

book on Broadway orchestration, “Tunick’s work, brilliant as it is, would be nothing without the

music and lyrics from Mr. Sondheim; lavish this expert handling on a mundane song by

mundane writes and you’d wind up with something, well, mundane” (Suskin 281). The

orchestration adds the final polish and brilliance to a song and score that carry so much in its

basic composition. In response to orchestration on a whole, Tunick responds:

Orchestration is ​craft f​ irst, then art. It’s like upholstery: A chair has to have a solid frame.

Likewise, a good slipcover on a rickety chair will collapse. Steve’s songs aren’t like this,

but a good orchestration can’t save a bad tune, nor can a bad orchestration totally obscure

a good song. You can analyze the effect, of course, but you should ​feel​ it first. I direct my

work toward the performer, who then reflects it to the audience. I can have one or two

flashy moments of glory in the show, but I don’t want the audience thinking, ‘Oh, I’m

glad he used the English horn there instead of the bassoon’ (Flahaven, 19).

Orchestration for musical theater is much like a film score in this regard. While we are, at

moments, aware that there is music playing during a film, for the most part we forget about it.
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This background music drifts into our subconscious, and we are left concerned with the story

while the music underneath informs our emotions. This is definitely manipulative in a way, but it

also heightens the emotion and drama from what mere words and picture can show. The same is

true for musical theater. It is the old explanation that actors sing when speaking cannot suffice

for the emotion at stake. When a higher degree of emotion is needed for a particular scene or

song, creators turn to orchestrators to help supplement those emotions so that the audience can

feel the emotion along with the story.

It is interesting to take a moment to look at the work of Michael Starobin, Sondheim’s

only other collaborator when it comes to orchestration. Starobin’s first project with Sondheim

was ​Sunday in the Park with George​ in 1984, a landmark, Pulitzer prize-winning musical about

the life and struggles of an artist, framed in the context of the painter George Seurat. Starobin

worked on this show when he was just 27 years old, which plays into his resentement for his

“young and stupid” writing, but also the nostalgia for a score that he could never replicate today.

It is during this time period that the thirty-person orchestras of the Golden Age were no

longer viable for financial reasons. Broadway began to become more and more expensive, and

fewer shows were opening per season because of these extreme cost increases. Broadway

orchestras began to diminish in size because no one could afford large orchestras anymore, but

the producers and audiences still wanted the big sounds of the Golden Age that they became

accustomed to. So, naturally, this seemingly impossible magic trick was tasked to the

orchestrators. In having to deal with orchestras that perhaps did not have a single string player (a

common string section in the Golden Age was at least twelve musicians), orchestrators had to
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begin incorporating synthesized sounds and stranger techniques of voicing and instrumentation

to fake the sound that there is more than in actuality.

Michael Starobin was faced with this problem when approached to orchestrate ​Sunday in

the Park with George​. Given a maximum orchestra size of twelve, including the conductor,

Starobin had to figure how to give the same volume of sound to the production while also still

being able to comment dramatically and effectively throughout the score. Opting for a chamber

group sound, Starobin employed a simple string quartet with a complement of winds and piano,

synthesizer, harp, and percussion to create the world of nineteenth century France and “present

day,” the ‘80s.

Despite all of this difficulty, Starobin’s orchestrations flourished. There are moments that

he points out which highlight good orchestration as it follows character development. The

character Dot, George’s ignored love interest through Act I, becomes fed up with George’s

inaction and lack of attention, and decides to leave him in the song “We Do Not Belong

Together.” A highly volatile and heart-wrenching song, Starobin uses the first violin, also known

as the concertmaster, to track Dot’s mood and action throughout the song. At the climax, when

Dot finally makes her decision to leave, there is a single, rising line that ascends from the

orchestra from the first violin. From Starobin’s description, this comes to represent Dot’s

defiance and motivation to follow her own path and not wait for the decisions to be made for her.

These same violin motives come back in “Move On,” where Dot returns to a “modern day”

George and explains how they had always belonged together (through a short reprise of the song

from Act I). This orchestrational moment creates a throughline that helps better track the
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relationship between the two characters and also gives further insight, past what words alone can

explain, into the emotional and dramatic motivations that the characters act on.

Looking at the work of orchestrators, it is important to see that, among the in-depth work

from everyone on the creative team, orchestrators always draw the short straw of the bunch. As

Michael Starobin explains, “Authors and composers often take a year or two to prepare their

show. Orchestrators are given anywhere from four to eight weeks. We have the same creative

drive as the authors, but none of the time to consider and rethink” (Starobin 14). It is important,

then, to note that all of this emotional heft that is created through the orchestrations is always

done facing the most daunting of deadlines, and should go to show the ridiculous amount of skill

and talent that these writers have. To create meaningful and compelling parts in that sort of time

frame is a feat unknown to most people in the musical theater world, and so when something like

that is attributed to the wrong person, people take notice. Again from Mr. Starobin regarding an

orchestrator’s role in the creation of a piece, “When the right people are in hand, all aiding and

abetting each other, not only are the results extraordinary, but the experience itself can be

magical.”
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Bibliography

Purin, Peter. "An Examination of Don Walker's Style of Orchestration in "the Pajama Game,"
"the most Happy Fella," and "the Music Man"." ​The American Music Research Center
Journal​ 19 (2010): 41,59, 61. ​ProQuest. ​Web.

“Winners.” ​Winners | The American Theatre Wing's Tony Awards®​,

www.tonyawards.com/winners/year/any/category/orchestrations/show/any/.

Suskin, Steven. ​The Sound of Broadway Music: a Book of Orchestrators and Orchestrations.​
Oxford University Press, 2011.

Flahaven, Sean Patrick. ​Jonathan Tunick: An Artist and a Craftsman​. The Sondheim Review;
Summer 2013; 19, 4. Arts Premium Collection, pp. 16-20.

Starobin, Michael. ​“Assassins”: The Possibility of Growth​. The Sondheim Review; Chicago, III.
Vol. 11, Iss. 1, (Summer 2004): 12-14.