No conductors need apply

Young and leaderless, A Far Cry is a small string orchestra with big ideas

An hour before a recent concert by the upstart string orchestra A Far Cry, violinist Sharon Cohen stood backstage gazing at the metal box that controlled the stage lights. The issue: The pianist was being blinded by a beam while the violins were in the dark. Cohen started to fiddle with a lever. Violist Frank Shaw hovered nearby. "If you do touch anything," he cautioned, "touch it slowly."

Watching the scene unfold at Phillips Academy's Cochran Chapel in Andover, it might be hard to believe that Shaw and Cohen are members of one of Boston's most promising classical music groups. Until, that is, you took in a performance of A Far Cry.

In just a year, this proudly unconducted string orchestra of a dozen-plus musicians has created a buzz that's stretched from Symphony Hall to New York City. The Boston Symphony Orchestra recently snapped up a cellist from A Far Cry. And next week, when the group embarks on a series of concerts in Quincy, Cambridge, and Brook line, a scout from a major New York management agency will be in the house, watching.

For the Criers, the attention brings both excitement and trepidation. What began as a glorified jam session between friends has grown more formal. In recent weeks, A Far Cry has been granted not-for-profit status by the Internal Revenue Service. The group has also begun looking for a full-time administrator, and it is developing a business plan that includes compensation for players, currently nonpaid.

"One can only volunteer for so long, even out of passion," says violinist Jae Young Cosmos Lee.

Word spreads fast in the classical music community. In the case of A Far Cry, the chatter began as soon as some of the city's more accomplished musicians checked out the group. Fenwick Smith, the now-retired BSO flutist, guest performed as a soloist with A Far Cry in a series of concerts last year. He raved about the ensemble to BSO double bassist Jim Orleans - who, in turn, spread the word when he spotted BSO trumpet player Benjamin Wright at a concert this year. Wright had come to hear one of his students, Eric Robins, in a guest spot.

"I wasn't expecting much," says Wright. "But when I sat down, Jim said it was one of the best chamber orchestras he's ever heard in this country. Right from the first note they played, it was really clear that it was very serious in terms of their dedication and a lot of virtuosic playing. What I kept telling people afterwards is that the ensemble was like a flock of birds. It was amazing how well they played together and how nuanced it was."

The 'Criers' Code'

It shouldn't be a surprise that the members of A Far Cry play so well. The musicians, almost all in their 20s, have studied at the best schools and worked under world-renowned teachers. Many share a connection through New England Conservatory, a networking link that is important, as there is no formal audition process.

The players range from violist Jason Fisher, a curly-haired 25-year-old from Seattle who rarely raises his voice, to Lee, 32, a diamond-earringed sometime DJ who blames his temper for imploding his last group, the Satori Quartet.

For some, A Far Cry is an exercise in on-the-job learning, a thrilling opportunity for do-it-yourself sweat equity. For Lee, A Far Cry is about redemption. "This is a second chance for me to prove to myself that I can be a better person," he says.

Most of the members share a philosophy about the traditional symphony orchestra, namely that they don't want to be in one. They fear overbearing conductors who don't allow musicians to speak up, and programming steeped in predictable repertoire.

"I'm sick of this whole mentality where students at the conservatory see getting a posh symphony job as the pinnacle," says Lee, who freelances as assistant concertmaster of the Boston Philharmonic but has stopped auditioning for a full-time orchestra gig.

"I just feel I am so much happier when I'm talking about the music and right there in the creative process, and that's not technically what you do when you play in an orchestra," says violinist Jesse Irons, 25. "Sitting in the middle of a section you're kind of anonymous."

In a professional orchestra, not much is left to chance. A contract dictates everything from rehearsal times to how much touring players get for lunch money. In A Far Cry, they've created procedures themselves.

Typically, tryouts are brought in for a series or two (in any given concert, you might see 16 people onstage). At that point, they could be added. Or not.

"We want people that we know are good to work with," says violist Margaret Dyer. "Somebody could play technically amazing, but you ask them to try to play something dirty or a little different and they can't."

There are reasons for rules, though, as A Far Cry learned at its first rehearsals last year. "We would play for three minutes and talk for 15," says Irons.

"Everyone had something to say," says Lee. "You couldn't get anybody to shut up. You couldn't get me to shut up."

There were also hurt feelings. Hence, the birth of the "Crier's Code." It is an always-growing, ever-changing list of general rules which range from the practical ("Only principals initiate stops") to the philosophical ("Be aware of sarcasm and use sparingly").

Even with the Code, Dyer says, "Sometimes Frank has to say, 'Less talk, more rock.' "

Other questions have not yet been settled. For example, this year's $26,147 budget came almost entirely from donations. When exactly should they hire an administrator and raise enough money to pay players? How else to remove the temptation of an orchestral job, whose compensation, in the case of the BSO, starts at $123,000 a year? Dyer, 24, says she depends on her parents to pay the $950-a-month rent on her apartment near NEC. That's despite the gentle nudges from her father that she find a job with a health-care plan.

And orchestral players don't just get paid. At major orchestras, the job comes with support staff, from publicists and stage hands to people who place the sheets of the evening's program on your music stand. A Far Cry goes it alone.

Irons takes care of A Far Cry's website, which includes a blog and a link to PayPal for those wishing to make a donation. Violist Fisher handles publicity. Dyer recently posted an ad on Craigslist seeking a graphic designer to work on a new logo, business cards, and other branding efforts.

As the group advances, its members know some of those tasks may eventually be shifted to others. That makes some of them uneasy.

"A lot of us acknowledge how much work there is, but we don't really want to let go," says Dyer. "It's delicate because what if a business decision does affect us artistically but we don't realize it until later?"

Doing it for love

At the Andover concert, Dyer and a few other players pushed the piano into place onstage. They stocked a table at the front of the church with fliers, all of which the group had designed and paid for itself. They fiddled with the lights until they got it right.

During a pre-concert run-through, Shaw, 26, stepped out to report that "the eighth notes are way too loud." Young told his colleagues that he was concerned about a section of the Beethoven. "We're losing steam a bit," he said.

A few more players piped up, including bassist Karl Doty, 23, until Shaw raised his hands.

"It's 6:15," he said. "We should keep going."

The concert itself went without a hitch. Irons opened by thanking the 70-some people who made it to Andover for the free performance. "A Far Cry exists for only one reason," he told them, "and that's love. When I talk about love I mean the love we have for each other, and the love we have for this music."

As they played, the Criers, some standing, some sitting, swayed along with the music, or jerked to accentuate a particularly intense moment.

The program blended old and new, opening with Osvaldo Golijov's "Last Round" before moving to Beethoven and Grieg. For a Shostakovich piano concerto, they were joined by NEC instructor Alexander Korsantia, a pianist who has played with orchestras from St. Petersburg to Oregon.

The emotional performance ended with Korsantia exchanging high-fives and hugs with the players as he headed offstage. Downstairs, in an otherwise empty lounge, Korsantia praised A Far Cry as he changed out of his concert clothes.

"This piece is custom-tailored for this type of collaboration," said Korsantia. "They're young, it's their aggressive desire for knowledge and risking it all the way. It felt fresh, it felt young, it makes me feel good."

Geoff Edgers can be reached at gedgers@globe.com