Principles of Applied Stupidity

Whenever I give a talk about my previous book, Real Men Don’t Rehearse, people always ask me how I managed to get to play in the Boston Pops when I was so young.

When asked this question, I used to flippantly reply, “Because at the time I was too dumb to know it was impossible.” At first I thought this off-the-cuff answer was a cute joke, but I soon started to realize that indeed, one of the main reasons I got to play in the most famous orchestra in the world at age 20 was because I was not hobbled by thinking about it too much. I was a country boy from Ohio; I had no idea of what the Pops was, and so when I was asked to play in what I later learned was most famous orchestra in the world, there was no inner resistance caused by anxiety or fear that I was not good enough. So in I went. By the time I figured out what the Pops was, and I realized I really wasn’t ready to play in it, I had already been working there for four seasons. My ignorance had served me well.

Another question I am often asked is, “Just what exactly does the conductor do?” This is an intriguing question, and a complicated one, that I try to answer in Real Men Don't Rehearse. But it led me to ask another question, which was, “What makes the great ones . . . ‘great’”?

This question dogged me for a long time. Like the supreme court discussing obscenity, I couldn’t define greatness in a conductor, but I knew it when I saw it. So I started to examine this subject (conducting, not obscenity) for the purpose of explaining what that rare magic was, so it could perhaps be learned and employed in other managerial and leadership situations.

What finally dawned on me was, it was not the conductors who knew the most, or studied the most, or had the most talent that were the most effective. Those people al looked great on paper, but they had so many ideas, so much training, and so much to talk about, that all the energy flowed out from them. This turned the orchestra into a passive listener role. On the other hand, the truly great conductors consistently said very little, and did very little. Instead of talking and preaching and commanding, they presented a virtual vacuum of anti-energy, and just said to the orchestra, “whatcha got?” And they simply absorbed the energy we produced, enhancing and encouraging our production of musical energy to its maximum potential.

It seems so simple, but our educational systems and philosophies place so much emphasis on acquiring and displaying as much knowledge as possible, that many people miss out on this simple yet oh-so-effective technique. Hence, this book.

Finally, I just want to again apologize for the use of the word “stupidity.” I was astonished to discover just how offensive many people find this word to be. It is a genuine cultural taboo. But this cannot be got round; the evil power of this word is out there, and the only way to defeat it is to drag it out in to the light.

I hope you enjoy the book. I highly recommend it. After all, it’s not one of those store-bought books. I wrote it myself. – Best, Justin Locke

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