Orchestral Hierarchy – is it appropriate for Baroque Music? Is it appropriate for Our Society?

Chicago Symphony Orchestra

Orchestral hierarchy today—roughly speaking—means the following:

At the front stands the conductor, who holds the overall concept (musical, philosophical, artistic) and leads the ensemble. Everyone looks to them for inspiration and large gestures. They lead rehearsals and, in performance, provide energy, impulses, and atmosphere.

The concertmaster is more responsible for the finer musical details. Their role is to interpret the conductor’s vision precisely and communicate it—through gestures, bowings, and so on—to the rest of the orchestra, ensuring that it is reflected accurately. They also play all solo passages when no soloist is present.

The principal players of each section (second violins, violas, cellos, basses, winds, etc.) communicate mainly with the concertmaster (and of course also with the conductor), so that the sections function well together. Next to them sit musicians who support them discreetly and with the utmost professionalism.

All others follow precisely, and are expected to suppress their own musical ideas—or adapt them to those of the conductor—in order to contribute perfectly to the overall concept.

Positions (concertmaster, second desk, first violins, second violins, etc.) are fixed—sometimes for years.

When an “orchestra” is assembled today, this structure is usually adopted automatically, because people are accustomed to it.

Conductor—or not?

For me, however, as a “pure” Baroque violinist (I no longer play the modern violin at all), this structure feels foreign. I am always struck when I see a Baroque orchestra in which musicians have carefully studied historical instruments and performance practices, yet still have a conductor—often even with a baton—standing at the front.

The orchestral hierarchy and the phenomenon of the “conductor” as we know them today—even within some “Baroque orchestras”—are inventions of the mid-19th century, arising from the musical and social conditions of that time. In my view, they do not suit Baroque music—nor our present-day society—either musically or socially.

Large state orchestras today primarily perform music from around 1830 onwards. For them, a conductor with a baton is entirely appropriate—the baton only became common in Paris around 1830, although many “conductors” in the mid-19th century still used a rolled-up sheet of paper, or led from the keyboard, organ, or even the violin.

Before around 1800, “conductors” were very rare. If they existed at all, they were more like timekeepers, marking the beat quite practically—often with a rolled-up paper.

“Baroque” orchestras were led by the first violin or the harpsichordist—sometimes also the composer.

For anyone interested, I highly recommend the book Before the Baton by Peter Holman.

The internal hierarchy of a Baroque orchestra

Whether musicians in today’s large orchestras are satisfied with their internal hierarchy is not something I feel qualified to judge—so I will leave this fascinating social question open, hoping that someone who works within such an orchestra might comment on it.

What I can speak about is my own experience with Baroque orchestras, and how this compares with the ideas of notable 18th-century leaders—such as J. J. Quantz, who, before becoming a renowned flautist and Kapellmeister to Frederick the Great, was trained and worked as a violinist.

As a Baroque violinist trained in The Hague in the 1990s, with twenty years of professional experience in London, one might assume that I have worked extensively with “true” Baroque orchestras—Nederlands Bachvereniging, La Petite Bande, English Baroque Soloists, New London Consort, and others. Yet, in my opinion, none of these were truly “Baroque”: they were shaped by conductors and fixed orchestral structures. I therefore believe that even these renowned ensembles were not ideally configured for Baroque music, nor did they fully realise its potential.

A personal reflection

What disturbed me most as a young violinist working in “Baroque” orchestras was that some musicians were allowed to develop—and others were not. Most players sat there, listening as a few colleagues played the solos ever better (or sometimes not better at all!). These selected players were supported and nurtured, and naturally left concerts inspired and energised.

And the others? They made all of this possible—at the expense of their own development.

Later, when I myself became a concertmaster, I neither had the courage nor the authority to give others opportunities—because in reality, the conductor was in charge, not me.

How did it function in the 18th century?

Imagine instead an orchestra in which every individual is truly encouraged and able to reach their full potential. What kind of ensemble would that be?

I believe this would bring us closer to the most successful orchestras of the 18th century. At that time, a key responsibility of a good concertmaster was to develop and support each individual musician. Since there were no conductors, the concertmaster—who had themselves often played as a tutti musician and understood the inner workings of the orchestra—held not only authority but also a responsibility to educate others. They were primarily responsible for the development of the orchestra—and therefore of each player.

Thus, in 1742, the Mannheim court orchestra was described by the English music historian Charles Burney as an “army of generals.” This phrase highlighted the extraordinary skill and high level of its musicians, who were known both for individual excellence and collective precision. Under the leadership of Johann Stamitz, the Mannheim orchestra was highly influential in the development of the Classical style and renowned for its innovations in orchestral dynamics and technique.

Some important points

1. Musicians were trained differently:

Many members of the Mannheim orchestra (and other leading ensembles) were also composers. They understood music deeply—not merely as instrumentalists, but as complete musicians. They were not accustomed to handing over musical responsibility to someone else—such structures did not exist. Each musician had to think independently and take responsibility. They were versatile, often mastering multiple instruments and functioning both as soloists and ensemble players.

2. The meaning of “talent” was different:

Looking at original parts or facsimiles, one rarely finds markings or bowings. Musicians understood the music and could play it without annotation. “Talent” did not mean reproducing technically difficult works from memory, but rather a deep understanding of music—being able to play, comprehend, and even compose every part.

What did a real Baroque orchestra look like?

A fascinating description comes from J. J. Quantz (1752) in his treatise Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen.

The modern conductor—as we know them today, with a baton—did not exist. The orchestra, whether a small chamber ensemble or a larger opera orchestra, was led by the first violin, the harpsichordist, or both. The leader could also be the composer.

Quantz emphasises the importance of having strong soloists within the orchestra and the responsibility of the leader to cultivate them by giving them opportunities to perform:

“The brilliance of an orchestra is greatly enhanced when it contains good solo players on various instruments… A leader must therefore strive to attract such players and give them opportunities to distinguish themselves… while also ensuring that this does not lead to vanity…”

Although Quantz does not explicitly mention rotating parts, it seems likely—given his emphasis on development—that such practices may have existed.

He also gives detailed instructions (with diagrams) on seating and placement, based purely on practical and acoustic considerations—not hierarchy. For example, first and second violins might face each other, the first violin with their back to the audience; bass and cello flank the harpsichord; and so on.

Relevance today?

That we perform music from 300 years ago at all is already remarkable—and wonderful. With today’s communication, education, and living conditions, we are able to rediscover our cultural heritage in ways that enrich and inspire us deeply.

But must we also adopt the same hierarchical structures that developed in 19th-century symphony orchestras?

Or do we have, in these newly formed Baroque ensembles, a unique opportunity to recognise the gifts of each individual, to bring out the best in everyone—and in doing so, to achieve not only musical but also human excellence of extraordinary power?

I am convinced that in this way, the Baroque orchestra could become a model for a more modern approach to music-making—one that could greatly contribute to the renewed vitality and relevance of classical music in our society.