Abstract
I remember sitting in a large group as a trainee, and wondering aloud where Foulkes had derived the term ‘conductor’ from. I knew Foulkes gave some clues in his writing but it was not obvious to me why he had chosen that particular metaphor. The resultant dry response of one of the staff was that he believed him to have been sitting on a bus at a time. I was perplexed whether this was a quietly sarcastic put-down (‘Surely it’s obvious, Foulkes clearly refers to music!’), a playful, illuminating leap (‘It’s not obvious is it? “Conductor” has more than one meaning”’), or both. I was too terrified to ask.
This article took me back to that memory. There is delight in this paper, achieved by marrying form with content. Certainly the content stimulates original and valuable thought around two central group analytic concepts: the nature of the matrix and the nature of being a group conductor. To do this by structuring the paper in the form of a sonata is delightful, and adds a musicality of its own to the ideas it explores.
In applying the theory of ‘communicative musicality’ the author is drawing on a relatively young theoretical source. This is relevant and enlightening, and builds on previous writing connecting music and group analysis. The case for the matrix as the music of the group is well made, and the section on ‘transposition’ is particularly important, evoking fascinating thoughts about the meaning of this in theory and practice.
However, it also takes the metaphor of ‘the conductor’ seriously by thinking about its implications. Most helpfully of all, it offers and explores a new metaphor. This is what prompts my response. The author is right to note the incongruity of imagining a conductor imposing a tempo on a therapy group. Even if we imagine it desirable because of inclination or external demands, we are likely to find it almost impossible. The resistance of a group to being led or having a tempo imposed is expressed beautifully by the writer and broadcaster Garrison Keillor (1989). He notes that the first violins in an orchestra believe the conductor secretly takes his cue from them; they believe that were the conductor to keel over, he would be carried away and all would continue undisturbed, in perfect time, except that now the audience would have an unimpeded view of the first violins. Ask any group member worth their salt, and they may tell you the conductor often does next to nothing, and at times is next to useless.
Ask any group analyst worth their salt, and they may agree that the analytic group probably has more in common with a band playing free form jazz than with an orchestra—the music is improvised, emerges from the moment while building on individual and group established patterns, and different members take the lead at different times. I think there is a lack of playful quest for additional, if not better, terms for us than ‘conductors’ but the spirit of this article leads me to wonder what else I might be while working as a group analyst, if not a ‘conductor’.
This article reminds us the conductor is part of the group, is one of its participants, in it though not of it. As a child, I had the joy of standing on the terraces of the Vetch Field watching lowly 4th division Swansea City Football Club rise to the 1st Division (today’s Premiership) under the leadership of John Tosack, a player-manager, newly arrived from winning the European Cup with the mighty Liverpool side of the 1970s. He was Head Coach and Manager, yes, but also playing on the field. Sometimes I wonder whether this is how I want to be in my groups: a part of it yes, but with more experience, technical knowledge and authority than the rest of the team. Or do I at times more want to emulate the Jedi Knight and sage, Yoda, from the Star Wars films, uttering authoritative, enigmatic exhortations (‘You must unlearn what you have learned.’ ‘Do not try! Do or do not . . . there is no try!’)? Or perhaps I might see myself as Mike Leigh, casting a film in the knowledge of what he wants to achieve, but allowing the actors to create the script for themselves.
There is much to think about here; what is it in me, in the group, or in the setting, that might lead me to want to adopt any of these roles, and how useful or counter-productive would they be to achieving the purpose of group analysis? I find myself returning repeatedly to this question in trying to understand my groups.
‘Conductor’ is useful shorthand as a job title, but how else might we see ourselves: as captain of a yacht; as the E. coli in the gut; as the batsman or the bowler; as the bacteria in the yoghurt; as the paint, the brush, or the canvas?
This is more than idle speculation because this article reminds us that how we see ourselves, and what we call ourselves, will fundamentally affect what we actually do in our work. To me, many of the metaphors above have the whiff of heresy in terms of how I understand the role of the group analyst; but sometimes I find myself or my groups stuck, repeating, avoiding. Then a temporary rethink often helps in opening new thoughts about what is going on, what might need to be done about it, and by whom.
I like to think Foulkes might have been sitting on a double-decker bus, passing the Royal Albert Hall, while puzzling how best to move away from the term ‘leader’, ‘therapist’; after all, two of the most important things for which we are responsible—making sure people get on and off safely at the right times, and that everyone pays the correct fare—owe more to Jack Harper in the television comedy ‘On The Buses’ than to Sir Malcolm Sergent.