Magic Moments

The Perilous Life of Symphony Orchestras

2012-01-10T22:58:00.000-08:00

If I didn't get much sleep last night, it's because I opened The Perilous Life of Symphony Orchestras, Artistic Triumphs and Economic Challenges by Stanford Emeritus Professor, Robert J. Flanagan, and couldn't put it down. At a time when symphony orchestras and other arts organizations across the globe are languishing on life support, Flanagan paints a not-too-rosy prognosis for the survival rate of cost disease. "The diagnosis of a symphony's perilous economic life begins with the limited opportunities for ongoing production growth. With the labor required for performances more or less frozen for all time by the composers of the symphonic repertoire, there are few opportunities for orchestras to take advantage of the technical changes that have raised productivity in many other sectors of the economy."

Flanagan's extensive research is a compilation of data from the largest 50 orchestras in the United States, as provided by the League of American Orchestras and Opera America. The book provides a detailed, yet highly readable examination between orchestras and arts groups in the United States (where there is little direct government support) and their foreign counterparts (where governments typically provide large subsidies).

It's been of interest to me, especially lately, to observe the various methods arts organizations and their leaders employ when coping with financial fragility and peril. In Copenhagen, Denmark, we find Keith Warner, head of Royal Theatre dropping to his knees begging for help to save his chorus. In Louisville, Kentucky, there seems to be confusion between management and players as to what actually constitutes a lock-out or a strike. Louisville Symphony musicians are being forced to repay unemployment benefits they received since June. Dallas Symphony is awash in red ink, and sadly, New York City Opera may be taking its last breath. I discovered another sobering piece on Greg Sandow's blog as he notes the ravages of cost disease and its effect on San Francisco Opera.

I've found myself wondering how the local Seattle music scene is doing currently. We have three major players: Seattle Symphony, Seattle Opera, and Pacific Northwest Ballet. One of the salient points made by Flanagan is that "limitations on the time and money of potential patrons may place performing arts organizations in direct competition with one another." I recall, even from the flush 90's, that these organizations competed against one another for every donated dollar. Local arts curators are maintaining a code of "don't tell" in terms of prognosis here, but I've heard that a lag in fund-raising, coupled with expensive buy-outs for over-valued former principals, is crippling at least one of the three; a collective bargaining agreement is in the process of being re-opened.

Flanagan hits another nail on the head with the maintenance and budgetary balance of pricier venues. For example, Seattle's Benaroya Hall (which is city-owned and opened with great fanfare in 1998 to the tune of 120 million dollars) increased expenditure—many times over—for the local orchestra. That these costs might eventually lead to financial distress should hardly come as a surprise.

Flanagan relays a basic fact that "the number of well-trained musicians seeking positions in symphony orchestras worldwide exceeds the number of positions available." Meanwhile, after a thorough investigation of performance costs and revenue, economic cycles likened to the shifts in climate versus weather changes, the comparison between American private philanthropy and European government subsidies, one recognizes the glaring truth that economic challenges faced by U.S. orchestras are not uniquely American.

"The Perilous Life of Symphony Orchestras" doesn't claim to discover that "silver bullet"—a single solution that eliminates the inherent economic challenges for today's arts organizations, perhaps because there isn't any. This book is recommended reading for anyone interested in this timely topic, but I warn you; it may keep you up at night, tossing and turning.

A Mozart Moment with Ana

2012-01-04T01:39:00.000-08:00

Inspired by this video of Ana Chumachenko's engaging masterclass at Verbier Festival Academy of Mozart Violin Concertos Nos 3, 4 and 5, I've had Mozart on my mind. Fortunately, I have a crop of talented students eager to immerse themselves in the concertos. There was a time when I wasn't so lucky. For a sad period my students felt Mozart beneath them. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, beat an egg in a bowl or throw it against the wall. No matter how much I complained and cajoled, I was left with mainly teenagers hungry to pursue only Romantic repertoire, and with attitude, of course. But this has happily changed. I'm looking forward to a Talvi Studio recital in the spring which will feature many of Mozart's compositions.

I'm of the opinion that learning the style of Mozart is best attained in childhood with excellent training. I was fortunate to have had a most wonderful teacher in Sarah Scriven at the Boston Music School. And my mother nourished me with Mozart's music as a steady diet. In fact, she was so eager to have me study the concertos that in 1964 (mind you, I was only five years of age), my mother purchased "A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing" by Leopold Mozart and gave it to me as a Chanukah present. Although Leopold's treatise didn't impress me then (I preferred Dr. Seuss and Beatrix Potter), to this day I consider the book, first published in 1756, a violinist's Bible. In translator Editha Knocker's introduction, she explains: The great, and I think the most important, difference between Leopold Mozart's teaching and the teaching of our own times is his insistence that each lesson be perfected before the next step is taken. He warns the teacher against letting the pupil play before he knows the rules of playing. He stresses the vital importance of correct bowing, and he gives a sound and logical reason for each rule.

We might easily recognize how it came to be that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, admittedly supra-naturally gifted, developed into such a fine violinist by dint of his father's detailed instruction and thorough knowledge of the instrument. Everyone who understands even a little of the art of singing, knows that an even tone is indispensable, Leopold writes in his treatise. After performances of his Concerto in G Major, K.216 in Munich and Augsburg, Mozart wrote his father, anno 1777: I played as though I were the finest fiddler in Europe. It went like oil and everybody praised my beautiful, pure tone.

And purity of tone and stylistic nuance is what violinist Ana Chumachenko, professor at the Hochschule in Musik in Munich and Gold Medalist of the 1963 Carl Flesch International Competition, illumines through her playing and instruction on this Masterclass Media Foundation DVD. Through skillful demonstration, she emphasizes the necessity of economical gestures, quick shifts in character, the translation of technic into a joyful but not aggressive sound, and conscious vibrato as a means to enhance or open the violin's voice as a singer would do. "Play the dynamic of piano so that it fills every corner of the room," she advises one student. Chumachenko possesses an innate sense of musical line, of direction, and shading. "The gestures are too large," she warns young violinist, Ania Filochowska. "It's as if you're trying to move heavy furniture. You must stand quietly and learn what they call—technique. This way you'll develop more and more freedom." Her own outstanding pupils are proof of this credo. Chumachenko's musical progeny include Lisa Batiashvili, Elina Vähälä, Mark Gothoni, Julia Fischer, and Sarah Chang.

After a duration of two hours, the masterclass with Ana Chumachenko at Verbier Festival Academy draws to a close. "How should I phrase in Mozart?" she asks with a gentle smile, as if thinking aloud. "You just have to listen. It's all there in the music. Easy, yeah? Good."

Candlelight Concerts

2011-12-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

This holiday season, I recommend a perfect musical gift to share with loved ones of all ages. Maestro Arthur Shaw presents his beloved "Candlelight Concert" family tradition from Ashland, Oregon and the Midwest to Mercer Island and Bellevue. With a brilliant, new ensemble comprised of respected musical families, Maestro Shaw will present two concerts featuring such cherished favorites as Vivaldi's "Winter from 'The Four Seasons'", Corelli's "Christmas Concerto", and Haydn's "Farewell Symphony" in the elegance of candlelight.

"This is a way of stepping back in time", says Shaw, "and hearing music with just the right ambiance. We'll be recreating a listening experience much like that which would have prevailed in the days when the music was composed. I believe there's nothing that can beat live music in such a romantic setting."

Shaw brings together a roster of formidable players; Ilkka Talvi and Walter Schwede as veteran soloists in Corelli's "Christmas Concerto", and prize-winning young instrumentalists, including cellists Camden Shaw and Karissa Zadinsky, and bassist Derek Zadinsky. It is, in fact, difficult to keep track of these younger players' accolades; they are too numerous. Upon graduation from the prestigious Curtis Institute, and while currently serving as cellist for The Old City String Quartet, Camden's group captured the Grand Prize of the 2010 Fischoff Award. His was chosen out of 48 competing ensembles from across the nation and around the world. Derek Zadinsky, also a recent Curtis graduate, returned in November from touring as a substitute bass player with Cleveland Orchestra. And Derek's younger sister, Karissa, was a winner of the Seattle Symphony Young Artist auditions.

The blend of exceptional youngsters and their established colleagues could be construed as a fusion of past and future; a hope for tomorrow's crop of burgeoning homegrown talent; and an incentive to the entire Eastside region for the support of live music. "Personally, I couldn't help but feel that the loss of Bellevue Philharmonic created a void here," says Shaw. "Bellevue is my community, my home. It is my hope to fill that void. By performing Candlelight Concerts, hopefully, we'll start a new tradition on the Eastside; one that will create a smile in everyone's heart."

Candlelight concerts are planned for 7:30 P.M. Thursday, December 15 at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Mercer Island, and 7:30 on Saturday, December 17 at St. Margaret Episcopal Church in Bellevue.
Afterglow reception following the concert.
Tickets available at the door: $15 general admission, and $12 for seniors.

Bach Chaconne for Two Violins

2011-11-29T22:40:00.000-08:00

photo by Sarah Talvi

While reading Joseph Szigeti's "On The Violin" an invaluable resource for serious violinists, I became intrigued by the many transcriptions of Johann Sebastian Bach's towering masterpiece, the Chaconne from Partita in D Minor, which are listed and analyzed in Szigeti's book, including a string quartet version by Luigi Schinina. I had my heart set on finding this particular quartet transcription, as I could imagine it might prove helpful to students struggling with the inherent demands of the unaccompanied Chaconne. But alas, while searching for Schinina, Ilkka and I discovered a two violin edition by Friedrich Hermann instead.

After printing out the score, we played through together, just out of curiosity, and to our delight found the Hermann version most satisfying. Suddenly, four part chords that are often forced or butchered by many violinists of today's era could be rendered with ease and elegance; the underlying harmonies are supported by the second violin with just the right touch of texture, and embellished with flourishes that, I believe, might have pleased old Bach himself. If nothing else, this two violin version of the Bach Chaconne by Hermann might be a godsend for the perplexed teacher, offering a strategy for pacing, polyphony and polish. I nudged my husband to quickly set up the recording equipment, as I know with oncoming holidays, one can put things off indefinitely. I also enlisted the aid of our youngest daughter Sarah as photographer.

It may be helpful to remember that Bach's music fell into relative obscurity after his death. It was Felix Mendelssohn who made Bach's works accessible to the wider public, perhaps rescuing him from oblivion; the general consensus at that time was that Johann Sebastian Bach was nothing more than a musical "mathematician". Mendelssohn published a piano accompaniment to the Chaconne in London and Hamburg in 1847, which was followed a few years later with the accompaniments for all six of Bach's Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin by Robert Schumann. I eagerly await the experience of studying these!

The venerable concertmaster of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig, Ferdinand David, immortalized for his premiere of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, introduced the first edited publication of Bach's Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin. However, David was known to have remarked that "he would not be moved by any fee whatsoever to step onto a stage with a naked violin," so terrifying was the thought of performing these works alone. Joseph Joachim was the first daring soul to gather the courage to perform the works without accompaniment, and always did so, which set the standard for our modern day.

Friedrich Hermann, the editor of this two violin version of the Chaconne, was himself a student of Ferdinand David at the Leipzig Conservatory. He also studied composition with Moritz Hauptmann and Felix Mendelssohn.

Ilkka and I dedicate this home production to the memory of Veikko Talvi, who passed away at the age of 100 on October 9, 2011. My dear father-in-law, whose loving spirit will forever remain with us, treasured every note that we played. And then some.

With Head to the Music Bent: A Musician's Story

2011-11-18T23:13:00.000-08:00

Randolph Hokanson (photo by MKT)

Confession. For many years after relinquishing my identity as a "concertmaster" or first chair player, I took cover whenever I spotted someone from my glorious past. It might have happened anywhere; the grocery store, the library, neighborhood street; simply put, I didn't want to be confronted or pitied, so I'd hide. A few months ago, my youngest daughter and husband witnessed my unusual behavior as I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye, at the grocery store parking lot, my dear friend and former musical collaborator, pianist Randolph Hokanson, now 96 years old. I thought my daughter might cry, as she gleaned that a precious moment was about to be lost; one that might never be recovered if I stubbornly sat in the car. And while she begged me to reconsider, to leave the car, and greet the master musician, I refused. But I recalled with great emotion, the transformational experience of having performed all ten of the Beethoven Piano and Violin Sonatas with Mr. Hokanson. We had offered an entire Beethoven cycle over the course of three evenings at Seattle's Sherman Clay, back in 2005. I returned home bereft of not only a hug from my patient friend and colleague, but what may have been a meaningful conversation.

As good fortune would have it, I learned a few days later that Mr. Hokanson had just completed and published his memoir: With Head to the Music Bent; A Musician's Story. Instantly I knew that I must get a hold of this book from the author's own hands, and journey with Mr. Hokanson through his years of study with Harold Samuel (one of the first pianists of the twentieth century to focus on the works of Johann Sebastian Bach), English composer Howard Ferguson, Dame Myra Hess, Carl Friedberg (who during his teens studied regularly with Clara Schumann and enjoyed a friendship with Johannes Brahms), and Wilhelm Kempff. I placed a call to the master, and after an invitation for coffee and cake in his studio, I held a beautifully inscribed copy of his memoir.

Mr. Hokanson's gentle and thoughtful narrative rings with as much clarity and insight as his beautiful piano playing. This memoir, with candor and humility, pays hommage to those noble beings who profoundly influenced and shaped his own artistry. In "With Head to the Music Bent," the reader discovers the secrets to contemplative study or what Myra Hess called "complete immersion"; the book guides the reader through the consciousness of sound: "I want to feel that my arm is in the bow, my fingers at the end of it, in direct contact with the strings of the piano."

In the late 40's, after an extensive contract with Columbia Artists which led to solo engagements under Sir Thomas Beecham, Pierre Monteux, Arthur Fiedler, Walter Susskind, and Milton Katims, Hokanson was offered a professorship at the faculty of University of Washington. This, in my estimation, might have been the university's musical heyday. The UW faculty included violinist Emanuel Zetlin, cellist Eva Heinitz, violist Vilem Sokol, and conductor Stanley Chapple. Hokanson devotes an entire chapter to his teaching philosophy and principles, most notably: "The ear governs the act". He invokes Myra Hess' dictum, "Think three times before you play a note!".

Mr. Hokanson brings his memoir to a heartfelt coda: "I find now that it needs only a few of the right words to change an attitude or instill a belief—but it has taken a lifetime of engagement with the world to arrive at that simplicity."

His words have taken effect. I returned to Mr. Hokanson's studio today with a pile of music: Bach, Mozart, and Brahms Sonatas. "I prefer to play music with those I love," I told him, and he agreed. We will be meeting for weekly sessions. To hear Randy Hokanson render a phrase is to behold a living link with tradition, all the way back from Carl Friedberg to Schumann and Brahms; an age when more emphasis was given to the principles of correct phrasing than to maximum technical efficiency. We both recognize that time is precious; there's much to accomplish; a new chapter begins.

Jascha Heifetz, God's Fiddler

2011-10-06T12:42:00.000-07:00

For those Jascha Heifetz aficionados eager to try to crack the code between Heifetz the violin god and Heifetz the man, there's a recent documentary Jascha Heifetz, God's Fiddler, based on Ayke Agus' personal account Heifetz as I Knew Him, produced by Peter Rosen, currently available on DVD. This film cannot claim to present an unbiased comprehensive examination of the artist, for many of Heifetz's peers and colleagues are long dead, and a number of former students were traumatized by their experiences with Heifetz as teacher, as to withhold comments. Furthermore, it would have been intriguing to have heard from one of the Heifetz children. But "God's Fiddler" is certainly an engaging dramatization of Agus' book. For the last fifteen years of Jascha Heifetz's life (he died in 1987), Ayke Agus was his closest companion. She came to him as a student of the master class at the University of Southern California, and ultimately became his private accompanist and confidante.

"God's Fiddler" displays several scenes on location at the Vilna Conservatory, Imperial Concert Hall, and the old Jewish ghetto, which help to recreate young Heifetz's steps, right down to the spot where he played soccer moments before an important debut. Jascha's father, Ruven, was employed as lead violinist for the Vilnius Theater Orchestra, and had Jascha enrolled at the Vilna Conservatory under the tutelage of Ilya Malkin, a former Leopold Auer student. By age seven, it became apparent that Jascha had outgrown Professor Malkin. He was granted an opportunity to play for Auer, the greatest violin pedagogue in all of Russia. Auer, though reluctant at first to hear another "child prodigy" was astonished by the boy. He invited Jascha Heifetz to study with him in St. Petersburg.

But these were troubled times for the Jewish population. City authorities created strict quotas for Jews in St. Petersburg. Composer Alexander Glazunov, head of the conservatory, allowed young Heifetz into the school at the behest of Professor Auer, but whenever Jascha's father left St. Petersburg to return to Vilna to visit his wife and two daughters, Jascha, was warned to remain silent in their one-room flat. If discovered without a proper permit, the consequences might have proved terrifying.

But later, Professor Auer, devised a plan to have Ruven Heifetz, then forty, also admitted into the St. Petersburg Conservatory as a student alongside his son. There are numerous shots of the interior of St. Petersburg Conservatory, up the grand marble staircase, and right into the Auer classroom itself. During one episode at the conservatory, we hear Heifetz's rendition of the Sibelius Violin Concerto. This work would obviously not have been played in Russia at that time, as Sibelius' concerto represented the Finnish nationalistic spirit. But it was indeed Jascha Heifetz who transformed the under-appreciated work into a prized piece of repertoire; Heifetz's performance of the final movement is demonically fast paced, contrary to the composers' wishes, but electrifying to listeners.

"God's Fiddler" treats the viewer to never-before-seen footage of Heifetz as a teenager. By this time, with high fees for concerts, the Heifetz family enjoys a luxurious dwelling in the city. As the political agitation grew to fevered pitch in St. Petersburg, and demands for Heifetz to perform in America increased, Heifetz bought a camera prior to leaving St. Petersburg. He took a photo of the turmoil right outside their St. Petersburg apartment from his window. In the supplemented archival footage, people are seen desperately scurrying on the streets; they resemble ants moving in every different direction; this is the oncoming of the Russian Revolution. Heifetz departs with his family for America. After a much anticipated and hugely successful Carnegie Hall debut, Jascha Heifetz becomes an overnight celebrity; a household name. History would make America my new home, he writes in one of his diaries.

While concertizing in exotic places, he brings his camera. Shown on "God's Fiddler" are captivating shots of Heifetz acting and directing in his home movies. There is also a poignant scene of Heifetz poring over a score with Professor Auer, and my personal favorite: a rare clip of Heifetz performing in front of Helen Keller; her hands every bit as expressive as his while holding Heifetz's violin scroll; Keller's face is radiant while sensing the vibrations.

Heifetz with his electric Renault, not a Volvo as the DVD claims

The film brings to light Heifetz's personal crusade against air pollution (he owned the first modern electric car, a modified Renault) and his relief work during World War II. Forever intrigued by innovation and gadgets, it is documented, but not shown on this film, that Heifetz had a violin crafted out of aluminum to withstand the corrosive, salty air of tropical climates. While performing for troops ready to land in Africa during the Second World War, Heifetz offered unaccompanied Bach to his audience. Bach, Heifetz explained to the troops, might not be to their taste but could be thought of as musical salt. After his performance, a silence ensued, followed by a yell from the back: More salt!

Less understood, and perhaps mystifying, was the deterioration of the Heifetz master class during his late years. One would imagine that students from all over the world would have sought after Heifetz as a teacher. But Heifetz's reputation for being intimidating, and at times downright abusive, caught up with him. A reader of my blog, who was a student of Heifetz in the 80s, shares a frighteningly dysfunctional scene. A talented student performed in class during that year and was made to sit down. Heifetz said: Look at everybody watching you. They are all smiling, but inside they think you are the worst player; they are laughing inside at you. Perhaps, by this time, the great violinist was losing it.

"Jascha Heifetz, God's Fiddler" is a captivating film. It may serve to illustrate the high cost of perfectionism.

Questions for Violinist and Pedagogue, Endre Gránát

2011-09-25T23:36:00.000-07:00

Endre Gránát, former Assistant Concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra, Concertmaster of the Goteborg Symphony, Laureate of the Queen Elisabeth International Competition and recipient of the Ysaye Medal, was the premier concertmaster who enabled me to work as a violinist in the Hollywood Film Industry during the 80's, when I was a twenty-something- year-old. It was tough (as in competitive) those days; I had only studied the classical music repertoire and was admittedly wet behind the ears for commercial gigs. Nobody else was willing to hire me for studio sessions; a newcomer might be a risk, but Endre took a chance, believed in my playing, and put me down on his coveted list of first violins.

After viewing this brilliant clip of Endre Gránát performing the Ysaÿe Ballade, I had an impulse to contact him. It's been, perhaps, almost thirty years. Sensing the winds of change in our business, with less and less jobs available, I wondered if Endre had advice for young musicians today, or thoughts about the the shifting work scene. Endre Gránát has been professor of violin at the Royal Conservatory in Goteborg, Sweden, Cleveland Institute of Music, University of Illinois, California State University, Northridge, and the University of Southern California. His most recent project and passion, however, has been the editing of concerti by Wieniawski and Mendelssohn with the inclusion of analytical studies and exercises by Otakar Ševčík.

Endre, what's your take on the business? What is the outlook for classical music?
We need to acknowledge the trend. I'll offer you a parallel. Bookstores. Every bookstore is in trouble, yet people are reading more than ever. Businesses need to come up with new formulas. This is a fact. If audiences don't buy your product, you change the product. Take Los Angeles Philharmonic, for example. There was a time you couldn't fill the hall; you'd look around and find rows and rows of empty seats. And now? The place (Disney Hall) is packed. The orchestra can feature an all Webern concert; doesn't matter, everything sells out; LAPO has a new home and a star on the podium.

What about graduating music students with enormous loans to pay off. How can one secure a job in this economy?
First of all, nobody has a birthright to obtain a job. The main criteria for a musician nowadays might be to fit in; to blend. Of course, it helps to be reliable. In other words, show up and shut up.

That sounds familiar. Contractors used to tell us: You're being paid for your time, not your talent. As you look back over many years in the profession, has the playing style changed?
Enormously. If you selected any one of the great violinists from about 1904 through 1965, and had any one of them audition for a position in an orchestra, they'd be laughed off the stage today. They've been replaced by what I call the New York Squeezers. It's a different sound and style. Totally.

I know what you mean. That's depressing. Why would anyone wish to pursue music as a career?
You don't choose music; music chooses you.

Do years of music study pay back?
In my opinion, music belongs to the things that everyone should study, in school, for instance, you might learn tennis or football. Why not the violin? It adds a dimension to life. Without music, one is impoverished. For instance, watch non-professionals play, and you'll see they're in Heaven. My goodness, what can beat playing chamber music with your buddies and enjoying a bottle of wine?

You've got a point there.
Are you writing my obituary?

No, Endre. Not yet. Can you tell me how the recording scene in Hollywood has changed?
When you worked in the studios, Hollywood musicians could keep their fingers in classical music by playing for regional or community orchestras: Glendale, Santa Monica, Pasadena, Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, etc. Concerts and dress rehearsals would take place on weekends, and studio musicians recorded on weekdays. Any studio work scheduled for weekends used to pay over scale; that's no longer the case. Sessions nowadays are booked anytime, day or night, Saturday or Sunday, with the result being that one sits by the phone, chews their nails, and is enslaved by the business. But I'm in the enviable position of being my own boss. I accept only the work that appeals to me.

from left: Endre Gránát, Vilem Sokol, Stephen Shipps

I'm eager to get a hold of your editions of the violin concertos of Mendelssohn and Wieniawski that include the analytical studies by the famous pedagogue, Otakar Ševčík. Tell me about this project.
It's been a goal of mine for a long while. The Ševčík annotations for this repertoire have been unavailable for 75 years. I was trained in my native Hungary by this approach; I know each exercise by heart. Believe me, Ševčík was anal to the thirty second note, writing down nuances for the player, as he had first hand knowledge from the composers themselves. But remember, this manner of transmitting knowledge was prior to recording technology, or the technology was so poor that the analysis was an essential tool. For 19 pages of manuscript you have 97 pages of exercises. But Ševčík taught his students how to learn and how to practice. I was fortunate to have met with Ševčík's pupil, Vilem Sokol, a few years ago in Seattle. I'll tell you what happened. I phoned the Sokol home and was received by his daughter. She said that Vilem would be available for only one hour at lunchtime, given his age and the condition of his health. So, Steve Shipps (who is also editing for this project) and I went to meet Vilem. We expected that after an hour or so, he'd be exhausted, and our meeting would be over. But that wasn't the case. Vilem had a drink with his meal, then another, and another. The Ševčík stories were endlessly entertaining! Before we knew it, the afternoon had long past, and it was around seven o'clock, time for dinner. We stayed and had another round of drinks with another meal.

Vilem Sokol was a luminary; one of the greatest musicians of all times. Sadly, he passed away last August at the age of 96. What a gift to know that we can share Vilem's musical expertise through you, Endre.
And for me to know that I have taught others to learn—this is the most important thing—then I have succeeded.

Forbidden Childhood

2011-09-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

One of my Frantic readers recommended the book, "Forbidden Childhood" to me by pianist Ruth Slenczyska. He had stumbled across my blog and recognized similarities to Slenczynska's memoir. As it turns out, my reader friend (pianist Andrew Gordon) and I shared concerts together as children growing up outside the Boston area. Oddly enough, I remember warming up backstage for a Jewish Music Forum event, my usual edgy teen-aged self; thirteen-year-old Andrew didn't say a word but just stared blankly while drumming his fingers on his lap. I imagine that I must have paced back and forth in my normal pre-concert jittery style, wiping my sweaty palms on my short skirt before entering the stage to perform an entire Jewish program. My mother had carefully selected the repertoire, excavating all the Jewish composers she could find, including William Kroll. To her, Mendelssohn qualified as a Jew even if his family had been converted and Kreisler also, so "Song Without Words" would have made the grade. "Was Wieniawski really Jewish?" I recall my mother asking while flipping relentlessly through "The Oxford Companion to Music". She discovered that Wieniawski's family, too, had converted to Catholicism. Finally, she settled on Joseph Achron's "Hebrew Melody"as a complement to Kroll's "Banjo and Fiddle". Besides, as young Andrew Gordon was to perform Achron's "Children's Suite" based on cantorial chant for the event, her daughter wasn't to be outdone.

I remember wondering how he—Andrew Gordon—exhibited such calm prior to performance. "I get nervous," I might have blurted while practicing backstage. I'm not sure whether I just kept the thought to myself or said it out loud. Alas—forty years—through the amazing internet, Andrew and I have found one another; our e-mail exchanges spill over with anecdotes from the past; words that were stifled in his youth fill the computer screen, including nuanced tales of a particular female teacher who wore too much make-up, sported mini skirts which emphasized her varicose veins, and coddled him like a baby. And it was this teacher who happened to share passages of Ruth Slenczynska's breath-taking memoir with Andrew.

In "Forbidden Childhood" American pianist Ruth Slenczyska (born 1925 in Sacramento) recounts how her father, Josef Slenczynska, a failed violinist took one look at her hands when she was just two hours old and burst into tears.

"Look at those sturdy wrists!" he said between sobs. "Notice the way her thumb is separate from the rest of her hand! Look at the tip of her fingers! I swear to you, Mamma, that's a musician!"

Josef Slenczynska demanded that his daughter practice nine hours daily from the age of four, firing one teacher after the next. Ruth Slenczynska studied with a whole galaxy of legendary pianists: Artur Schnabel, Alfred Cortot, Egon Petri, Josef Hofmann, Nadia Boulanger, and Sergei Rachmaninoff. She made her Berlin debut at the age of six, and performed her full debut in Paris when only eleven years old. By age fifteen, after a shattering emotional crisis which points to her abusive father, she withdrew from the concert stage. Ruth reflects,"Some such turning point arrives in the life of every child prodigy: the day when allowances cease to be made on grounds of youth; the time for reappraisal; the need for readjusting to new values." Fortunately for the musical world, Ruth Slenczynska found her way back into teaching and performing; her wit, miraculously, in tact. Most Wunderkinder have been less fortunate.

From personal experience, those I've known appear haunted, or sometimes almost deranged, by the ghost of the never satisfied stage parent. As an Interlochen alumni, I found this clip of There's Magic in Music (1941) positively enchanting. Much of the movie was filmed on location at National Music Camp. Towards the end of this scene, however, a cameo appearance by violin prodigy Heimo Haitto captivates my attention. In the film Haitto describes himself as a Finnish refugee. It dawns on me that Ilkka has mentioned Haitto's name several times over the years with a mixture of disbelief and compassion. It is documented that during the Russo-Finnish War, Heimo Haitto was sent away by his parents, along with his teacher, Boris Sirpo, to America. But it remains sketchy as to the abuses he suffered by an exploitative entourage. I click on this YouTube performance and my heart melts with the staggering beauty of Sibelius "Serenade" as played by Haitto and the Finnish Radio Orchestra. I scroll down and view a concert from later years. It's one thing to listen to a young boy full of promise, yet another to witness a broken down, aged fiddle player. There is a far away look in Haitto's eyes; as if a flame is about to extinguish. Heimo Haitto's personal struggle was a journey from a forbidden childhood to an almost forgotten life.

The Two Sides of Mahler

2011-07-22T19:40:00.000-07:00

I'll admit. It's not easy to get my husband to consent to an interview—on any subject—let alone the topic of Mahler, especially for my blog. But since he served as concertmaster for the Seventeenth Annual Northwest Mahler Festival, under the baton of eighteen-year-old Principal Conductor, Alexander Prior (who, by the way, is a marvel as both conductor and composer), I have Mahler on the brain. Besides, this year marks the centennial of the composer's death.

So, without his actual consent I took notes on the sly and kept a sheet of paper between the pages of Norman Lebrecht's most recent book, "Why Mahler? How One Man and Ten Symphonies Changed the World."

Alas! An unauthorized interview with violinist Ilkka Talvi on Gustav Mahler.

The Two Sides of the Critic

I've heard you occasionally compare composers with cuisine. If Beethoven is pasta, as you claim, with long spaghetti-like phrases that sometimes curl, twist and stretch, and Brahms is hearty as a steak or a solid piece of meat, what is Mahler?
Mahler reminds me of Chinese Dim Sum, a meal that lasts for a couple of hours, in which you can't be quite sure what, exactly, you're eating. But that doesn't mean it's not tasty. It's just too much of everything; you might end up with, say, twenty-five different dishes, or a mishmash.

I sense a slight, I wouldn't call it hostility, but an irritation with the excessive performance instructions mandated in the score by Mahler. Explain.
Either Mahler thought the musicians were complete idiots or he felt an intense need to micro-manage every player. For example, there's a long instructive sentence asking to play with utmost force so string vibrates wildly, rubbing against the fingerboard.
So?
For one thing, this result can only be achieved with pure gut strings and a low bridge. How many players today use sheep gut strings? Mahler also specifies "vibrando". You know why?
Is this a quiz?
Orchestras of Mahler's day didn't use vibrato. It was an occasional stylistic device, like an embellishment. That's most likely why the concertmaster of Vienna Hofoper Arnold Rosé, who just happened to be Mahler's brother-in-law, turned down Fritz Kreisler's audition. Kreisler was the first to use constant vibrato in his playing, and the technique was unheard of in those days. As a result, he couldn't get a position in the Hofoper. But today you have orchestras performing Mahler and vibrating like crazy without regard for authenticity.

Your somewhat controversial theory regarding Leonard Bernstein and his promotion of Mahler's music as a means to spur Jewish philanthropic support fascinates me.
The Bernstein/Mahler combination with the New York Philharmonic was a fail proof recipe for philanthropic success. Bernstein was able to prosyletize Mahler, the Jew, by emphasizing his use of Yiddish folk melodies and familiar Klezmer tunes. This music in combination with Bernstein's charisma, galvanized the support of the Jewish community. Jews from the Old Country needed a musical hero, and they got two for the price of one: Mahler and Bernstein. Suddenly Gustav Mahler had become 105% Jewish. Never mind that the composer had converted to Catholicism. Bernstein intuited that his followers yearned to experience something totally fresh and new with regard to repertoire, rather than being subjected to the same German compositions that reminded them of the past. Bernstein sensed this. The Jewish composer Schoenberg, with his twelve tone technique, would've been impossible to digest, but Mahler—

How did you come up with 105%?
Because with Mahler, the megalomaniac, everything is in excess. Orchestras are going broke; the sheer forces needed to perform his music are budget busters. Megaworks. Obviously they're becoming the property of community and youth orchestras in this country, as it's no longer affordable to produce a Mahler Symphony. Same with Wagner, who, by the way, in spite of his vituperative antisemitic statements about Jews in music, Mahler venerated. Conducting Wagner's music was Mahler's ticket to fame, like the Israeli conductor, Asher Fisch. It all started with Wagner's disdain for Felix Mendelssohn. All because Mendelssohn didn't give Wagner the time of day. Which leads to the paradox; Mahler and his adoration for Wagner.

You seem bothered.
You know what really gets under my skin?
What?
The main thing that annoys me is that all these composers (Mendelssohn, Mahler, and even dear old Fritz Kreisler) were in a hurry to deny their cultural heritage and adopt Catholicism for self-advancement. Putting it simply, Mahler changed his religion in 1897 to get a better gig with the Vienna Court Opera.
You know, I have a vision of Hell.
Oh, what is it?
Richard Wagner is forced to conduct an all Mahler festival, with all ten symphonies, endlessly played by musicians of certain ethnic backgrounds. They have no common language, so the German terms are meaningless. And every single part in the score has been re-orchestrated by Mendelssohn!

What if Mahler were a conductor or music director of a professional American orchestra today; how do you imagine players would react?
They'd go on strike. First of all, Mahler would insist on featuring his symphonic works with endless rehearsals and impossible over-time. And, especially today, orchestra musicians would not tolerate his asinine, autocratic behavior. Most important, they'd expect him to show his directives with the stick, not overload them with verbal commands: "breathe here, slow down there, intermission here to wipe your arse."

Do you think that Mahler would have made a successful fund raiser?
Hell raiser—is more like it.

In a review of Norman Lebrecht's "Why Mahler" by Leon Botstein for the Wall Street Journal, Botstein makes the point that a "troubling aspect of Lebrecht's chronicle is the importance he gives to recordings. Although Lebrecht recommends hearing Mahler in live performance, one senses his passion for Mahler is linked to his experience of listening to the composer's music with headphones or in front of the loudspeakers." What are your thoughts about live versus recorded Mahler performances?
Recordings are an ideal way to listen to the works of both Richard Strauss and Gustav Mahler. Being that they were conductors, and heard their works performed from the vantage point of the podium, they lacked the same aural experience as the concert-goer. For Strauss and Mahler it was up close and personal. When Strauss composes a solo marked "lowest notes sul G in piano" for the concertmaster and the brass is playing at the same time, Strauss's conception was for the violin solo close to his ear, rather than afar, as one can hear on a recording.

In "Why Mahler?" Lebrecht features an exchange between your Finnish countryman, Jean Sibelius, and Gustav Mahler. They apparently met one time in Finland. Sibelius, who had completed his own Third Symphony extolled the virtues of structural severity. Mahler countered Sibelius with his belief that the symphony must be like the whole world, insisting that a symphony must embrace everything.
And see what happened? Mahler died at age fifty-one and Sibelius (who stopped composing around the same age) lived into his nineties.

Mahler suffered from terrible hemorrhoids.
Mahler was a hemorrhoid. He treated his musicians horribly.

You most recently performed Mahler's Third Symphony, and without going overboard, I'd say your solos were divine. In this symphony, Mahler sought to explain the universe, to find a reason for suffering and misery in this world. Some believe the answer to solving the Mahler riddle might be revealed in Schopenhauer's "The World as Will and Representation," as Schopenhauer's philosophy captivated the composer. For Bernstein, the Third Symphony was not just a pastoral symphony—an answer to Beethoven, but an ecological prophecy. In 1967, Bernstein claimed that it is 'only after we have experienced the smoking ovens of Auschwitz, the frantically bombed jungles of Vietnam, through Hungary, Suez, the Bay of Pigs, the refueling of the Nazi machine, the murder in Dallas, the arrogance of South Africa, the Hiss-Chambers travesty, the Trotskyite purges, Black Power, Red Guards, the Arab encirclement of Israel, the plague of MacCarthyism, the Tweedledum armaments race—only after this can we finally listen to Mahler's music and understand that it foretold all'.

So tell me. What was your favorite moment in the performance of the Third Symphony?
When it was over.

The Great Piano Heist

2011-06-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

I ask my readers: do you remember where you were and what you were doing the day when the local press announced Music Director Gerard Schwarz's retirement from Seattle Symphony? Here's what I recall. I was bent over the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. The phone rang. A symphony violinist drew in a deep breath, paused, and calmly stated, "He's retiring."
"Who?" I asked innocently, but silently hopeful.
"Schwarz," she said. "June, 2011."

I can remember the wheels spinning in my head; 2011 would feel like an eternity, I thought to myself. It's probably not, dear reader, what you may expect. I waxed nostalgic for a few magic moments after the call, sentimentalist that I tend to be. I remembered some meaningful times from the past, mostly celebratory gatherings; baby showers and birthday parties; a Bat Mitzvah too. I was a mother with two young daughters, but also first chair and artistic director for the Northwest Chamber Orchestra, now defunct, as many other arts organizations will soon be. For example, Bellevue Philharmonic just folded after 43 years. I was also concertmaster of Pacific Northwest Ballet back in the glorious days of Artistic Directors Kent Stowell and Francia Russell. My husband, Ilkka Talvi, served for twenty years as concertmaster for Seattle Symphony and Seattle Opera under Schwarz. Although my husband was an exemplary soldier, you won't hear much about his notable past from the departing one; the epaulets from his uniform were stripped by the commander for reasons that were never articulated, but can be deduced, judging from the outcome of his absence. But listen to the SSO recordings of Diamond and Creston on the Naxos label, with my husband as soloist, and you'll hear a fiddle player of top rank; one that inspired a warm, refined European sound from the strings.

The choice of Mahler's "Resurrection" Symphony as a closing event might have proved symbolic. After all, in terms of morale, the Seattle Symphony—with many fine players—can now move forward to not only new leadership (the orchestra is simply not the same orchestra as it was when Schwarz first appeared on the podium back in the early 80s), but to a future of civility under the musical directorship of Ludovic Morlot, a 36 year old French violinist/conductor who has already directed the Chicago Symphony, Boston Symphony, and New York Philharmonic. Certainly, Maestro Morlot possesses a sensibility when it comes to strings, already eager to regroup first and second violins so that the two sections will blend and hear each other, rather than second guess from one end of the massive stage to the other.

Schwarz's tenure lasted exceedingly long (26 years) by industry standards; normal shelf life for a Music Director is about 7-10 years. The retaliation within the orchestra began to resemble a TV crime series, with alleged vandalisms, a dented French horn, and a razor blade found in a mailbox. But to the Seattle masses, Schwarz is an icon, and understandably so. A downtown street has been named after him. One that, I'm sure, many musicians will attempt to avoid, for the sign itself might just trigger a bout of post traumatic stress disorder. One retired musician will have a book completed by this summer's end as testimony to bullying in the orchestral workplace.

Life is never what it appears in the symphonic arena; you can be sure of that. Not a word of gratitude was exchanged after the final rehearsal between the departing one and his followers. Not a simple, "Have a great summer and future" or "Thank you, colleagues, for coping with my didactic approach, retaliatory measures of hiring and firing, not to mention the episode of withholding your bargaining contract from being ratified unless you agreed to my choice of principal horn." Oh yes, and not to forget the "declaration of loyalty to Gerard Schwarz" the principals were forced to sign back in 2002. (Without that declaration, the Schwarz era might have ended years ago, when his contract was up for renewal.)

With any cult of personality, audiences go wild. Think Adolf Hitler. I suppose the speeches at the final farewell were scintillating. I was told that the applause bordered on frenzy. Schwarz turned to the orchestra on stage—and publicly professed his love to each and every orchestra musician. I'm sure my colleagues felt the loving vibes, and reciprocated whole-heartedly.

Shall we take one final trip down memory lane?

So, what happened next after all the hoopla? Like any other employee, the departing one was required to clean out his office. Seems he went the extra mile with this, too, and performed an exemplary job. Nothing half-way. The Steinway grand piano, which Seattle Symphony claims belongs to the organization (uh-oh) and expects returned, was packed up along with everything else. If lightbulbs were pilfered along with rolls of toilet paper, you know tough times are ahead. Oh, and in case anyone's interested, there's a mansion for sale on Highland Avenue.

Reporting (still alive) from Seattle!

The Way of the Conductor

2011-05-24T17:57:00.000-07:00

The faithful reader of my blog may wonder what activities I indulge in a few days after a stressful performance, as in down time or recalibration. It would be so easy to beat oneself up over a few silly mishaps during a live concert; thankfully I would never contemplate suicide like the accomplished Israeli violinist, Matan Givol. Matan's death saddens me greatly, though I never met or heard the young man play. I can't help but wonder if he struggled as many artists do—with depression and severe self-abasement. That's one of the reasons that artists must learn to lead a balanced existence with varied interests, and hopefully, find a meaningful personal life outside the professional. I hope, in some small way, that my blog is an encouragement to fellow artists.

I decided to pick myself up from the post-concert doldrums after the Beethoven Concerto episode and engage in one of my favorite past times: bargain hunting. If you happen to venture to our local Goodwill on a Saturday night, just before closing hour, you might find men dashing around in women's clothes and shoes. The atmosphere is fun and upbeat. Last Saturday I found a Mizrahi denim jacket for under five bucks! And the following day, I visited one of my beloved second hand book stores, "Twice Told Tales" in Fremont. There, while perusing the classical music books, I discovered a treasure: "The Way of the Conductor—His Origins, Purpose and Procedure" by Karl Krueger. I gazed at the title for a long while and thought to myself, I really didn't know that a conductor had a purpose or procedure...Although the book first made its appearance in 1958, you'd think it arrived fresh off the printing press with observations such as this one:
"There seems to exist today a far too general readiness on the part of the public—and among musicians, too—to accept the orchestra for what it was and too little awareness of its changing character in time and place---The few side lights on the orchestra's evolution which have been adduced make it clear that the orchestra either progresses or retrogresses, it cannot stand still."

There's a wonderfully thought-provoking section on the conductor's over-all influence on the orchestra.
"Assuming that an orchestra possesses mechanical mastery, its "sound" will be a projection of the conductor's musicality. And this "sound" is by no means a lasting phenomenon but, on the contrary, it is transitory and fugitive. It is indeed so fleeting that it is the first of the orchestra's characteristics to go when the conductor goes."

I wonder if this point might be somehow relevant for today's Philadelphia Orchestra. The Philadelphians, under the forty-four year tenure of Eugene Ormandy, and before that, Leopold Stokowski, at the height of its glory, was praised for its lush, opulent sound. I do not doubt that nowadays the ensemble resembles any other first rate orchestra; but I'm not sure it can compete with its own notable past. Which brings me to Stokowski's concept of sound and one of his trademarks: free bowing. You'll find in almost every orchestra (amateur ensembles, too) an almost anal fixation on string bowings (the back and forth motion of the bows—which go either down or up). Stokowski regarded this kind of exactitude as a mechanical effect, while his free bowing style resulted in an unbroken seamlessness and mellowness in the strings that attached itself to the Philadelphia Orchestra. In Stokowski's own words:
"Mechanism as one part of life is wonderful in an automobile or airplane, but not in art, which requires flexible pulsation. When string players are obliged to follow their section leaders and bow up and down bow in unison, they may attain the greatest precision but also the most rigidity and the least expressivity. There are occasions when this military type of uniformity produces just the right spirit, as in a Sousa March. The players of classical music are called upon to convey warmth and intensity and poetic passion which cannot be ideally realized when everybody bows together like robots."

But the tastiest meat of this book, "The Way of the Conductor" is dished up on the final page. I'll offer you a morsel before getting back to whatever-it-was-that-I was-doing to help recalibrate my life and boost mental stability. Young conductors, take note:
"The tyrant destroys, he stifles the invaluable aspiration of the individual player and tramples the unfoldment of his latent powers. And, by so doing, he robs a performance of undreamt-of values. No player can give his best when he is driven, it is when he is intelligently led that he finds himself."

Questions and Answers for MKT

2011-05-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

As I'll be making my long-awaited appearance this Friday evening as soloist for the Beethoven Violin Concerto with Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra, after an extended hiatus from concertizing, I decided to grant an exclusive interview. As this is the internet age, an artist no longer needs to wait for a reporter; this is the era of narcissistic self-promotion, remember? So I contacted the journalist myself, and as they say in the biz, made it happen.

Q: How does it feel to be returning to the concert stage? It's been what, 3 or 4 years?
A: Well, to tell the truth, it's a little scary...I mean, I've always had a tendency to freak out, as noted in my memoir, Frantic. And, like athletes, instrumentalists can atrophy. Also, we age.

Q: What are your fondest memories of performing the Beethoven Violin Concerto?
A: Well, I have two that leap to mind. The first, of course, was an appearance with Orchestra Seattle under the leadership of beloved George Shangrow at Meany Hall. I was amazed with George's musical intuition, for he was with me at every twist and turn. The other time—now this goes way back—was at Peter Britt Festival, where I served as concertmaster. I performed the Beethoven with James DePreist outdoors in 110 degree heat in Medford, Oregon. I glanced at my fingers which swelled to the size of sausages. Want to know a secret?

Q: I love secrets. Dish—
A: I was so intimidated by DePreist (but loved him and still do), that I begged: Don't you dare watch me during the cadenzas!

Q: Did DePreist oblige?
A: No. He peeked. Rascal.

Q: What is your regimen during the weeks prior to your performance?
A: I nibble on my nails, and read, read, read and listen, listen, listen and practice, practice and practice. Alternate between coffee and wine. Snack. In other words, I obsess furiously.

Q: I understand you're married to violinist, Ilkka Talvi, of Men and Music fame?
A: Yes!

Q: And? Does he offer suggestions? Musical expertise?
A: Oh indeed. He reminds me of the concert which he attended in Vienna of David Oistrakh performing the Beethoven Concerto. Ilkka counted no less than eight memory lapses at that performance. He reminds me of this repeatedly, to test my patience, because memory loss is one of my biggest fears. But Ilkka awakened me to the beauty of Fritz Kreisler's recording. And you know what? It has transformed my concept of the entire work. The transcendent humility, nobility, pacing, spirituality, and technical perfection. I'm profoundly indebted to Fritz Kreisler. I would drop everything to listen to that great violinist play. We're most fortunate to have those archival recordings available.

Q: What other performers have influenced your Beethoven concept, at least, recently?
A: Well, I went and played for my esteemed colleague, violinist Sharan Leventhal, while she visited the west coast. It's interesting. Sharan made a few comments that have really taken hold.

Q: Please. Continue.
A: The Beethoven Violin Concerto is a symphony, she said. Now I knew that, of course, but needed to be reminded—for strength and command. My playing was too submissive. Sharan dropped the magic word.

Q: Abracadabra?
A: No. Heroic. The concerto begins with a military drumbeat, which I liken to a heartbeat, because when I wake up in the middle of the night in terror, that's what I hear; my own rapid heartbeat. But you know, the mere concept of heroism turned my thinking around. I started digging through books on Beethoven. I'm reading Schiller's "Aesthetic Essays" as Beethoven himself did. I recognize now the triumphant spirit in the concerto. It's a testament for the human being who has struggled, suffered, and will emerge victorious in the end.

Q: You showed me the copy of your score. It's—well, quite messy.
A: Yes, I know. My mother was a collector of old sheet music, and I inherited this copy from her. You know, it's so old that the paper seems to dissolve in my fingertips. But, I love this edition. To me, it resembles a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Beethoven brings me nearer to God. This is difficult to explain. Please excuse me for my rambling. That being said, my dear cellist friend, Daniel Morganstern, reminded me that the performance this Friday is not Judgment Day. And he told me to imagine that long entrance, the orchestra tutti, and practice the opening over and over again, to develop thought control.

Q: What is your opinion about the new group, Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra?
A: I feel very connected to this ensemble. The music director, Geoffrey Larson, is a major talent and a delight to work with. I might add that my former pupil, Andrew Sumitani, will be first chair for this concert. If I have a little trouble, maybe he'll just play my part?

Q: Really?
A: That was supposed to be a joke. In other words, I'm surrounded by good vibes.

Q: Any final thoughts?
A: Please join me Friday evening, May 20th at 7:30 with Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra at Seattle's Daniels Recital Hall for an evening of Haydn, Handel and Beethoven.

Growing Pains

2011-05-05T10:55:00.000-07:00

I suppose all the hoopla surrounding Artistic Director Roberto Minczuk and Brazilian Symphony Orchestra (OSB) might be considered orchestral growing pains. The OSB, in an effort to improve its product has declared, not bankruptcy, but a thorough re-evaluation process of its employees, and as the players are not tenured and the orchestra is backed by a group of private investors, they have the right to proceed. Orchestra musicians, like school teachers, or for that matter, any skilled laborers, are not uniformly competent. To make matters more complicated, some have received their positions through the back door as opposed to standardized auditions. Minczuk speaks out here.

I recall a number of seasons that I spent devoted to a professional chamber orchestra in Seattle. Sadly, the organization was later to file under Chapter 7 in bankruptcy court. Although there were no contractual stipulations regarding seating of section players, colleagues were adamantly opposed to re- assessments. For example, although a couple of violinists might have been more effective in the seconds as opposed to the firsts, the musicians held their hands up to their ears and shook their heads "No". They wouldn't hear of this. And conversely, a second violinist was discouraged by colleagues from switching to the firsts, even though the over-all sound of the orchestra might have been enhanced. The reason? Any shift in position might have been perceived by the public as a demotion, even though, a second violinist's contribution is of equal, or perhaps greater value to an ensemble, as one must develop strong intuitive powers for the supporting role.

The entire chamber orchestra suffered as a consequence, for by grinding its heels and resisting change or growth, the group resolved to maintain a status quo which was definitely, inarguably substandard, unworthy of donor support; the ensemble was deemed unfit for international stature. With all due respect to my former colleagues, a complete re-evaluation of the orchestra might have offered a life-saving measure and prevented the demise of a thirty year institution which was on the cusp of development.

I recall the words of a wise colleague suggesting that orchestral musicians might open their minds and hearts by engaging in a spirit of willingness to experiment with different strategies. For if one refuses to recognize and honor the superior talents and abilities of a colleague or colleagues, and deny those who are deserving of opportunities a foot in the door, might that be unjust? Is it fair to relegate young talents to the periphery? Might one also make a plea for the booking of fresh soloists rather than the predictable, overpaid few?

In response to warnings of boycotting upcoming auditions for the Brazilian Symphony Orchestra, here is a copy of the letter from the BSO Foundation. Please take a moment to read and share.

To The International Federation of Musicians

Dear Sirs, given the recent demonstration of the FIM on the international auditions of the Brazilian Symphony Orchestra and in deference to the work and representativeness of the Federation, we have provided some clarification regarding the restructuring process by which the orchestra has been through in the recent months.

We understand that the “Call for an international boycott” to the orchestra auditions reflects a biased interpretation of recent events, to reports released on the Internet that often go beyond and distort reality. In respect to the International Federation of Musicians, we want to position ourselves not only in relation to the process that led to the removal of some of our musicians, but also to clarify the basis on which the new auditions for the orchestra are organized.

Fidelity to the institutional mission to build a culture of excellence around the symphonic music in Brazil led the OSB Foundation to invest in qualifying and broadening its work in 2011. The implementation of performance evaluations for the orchestra was a decision of the Foundation in order, along with the continuing evaluation that takes place in rehearsals and concerts, to recognize the artistic demands of each member of the group, provide suggestions for individual improvement and ensure best conditions for the work of the orchestra.

As emphasized since the announcement of the evaluations, the process did not seek the dismissal of musicians, but a real examination of the artistic situation of the OSB from a feedback on the performance of each member, who also served as official means for repositioning the musicians in their sections.This action was reported earlier this year and, and until the scheduled time for conducting evaluations, some of the musicians of the orchestra had showed dissatisfaction with the OSB Foundation’s decision.

In many negotiations, the Foundation sought to reach a consensus with this group of musicians, meeting with requests such as reducing the required repertoire for evaluations. The FOSB remained steady in relation to the indispensability of evaluations to continue its artistic development, but relaxed various aspects to ensure the fairness and legitimacy of the process with the musicians. No decision taken by the FOSB, however, was good enough to meet the needs of this group of musicians, and the worsening relationship with them eventually led to their removal.

The Foundation resisted the most to this extreme alternative, which became the only one possible, given the context of insubordination and public defamation, in which it found itself inserted.The chronological report, which is found attached, shows details of the entire process. After the removal of the musicians, the OSB Foundation also undertook a last effort to resume negotiations and reached a consensus with the group about the necessity of the existence of evaluations. Given their requests, we designed a new format for the evaluations, to be held in June, and prepared a final proposal which called for the immediate reinstatement of all of them.

However, from that time on, the musicians have started to pressure the Foundation no longer about the evaluations, but on a point that was non-negotiable for the institution: the permanence of conductor Roberto Minczuk at the position of OSB Artistic Director and Principal Conductor.

All attempts made by the OSB Foundation in order to circumvent this situation were not taken, given the requirement of the musicians in dismissing the artistic director of the orchestra. Thus, a polarization of the debate and of the public opinion has been tried, by shifting the attention from the primary focus: to raise the quality standard of the orchestra, which should be its irrevocable and continuous mission.

In five years under the artistic direction of Roberto Minczuk, the OSB has seen its annual budget leap from US$ 4 million to US$ 22 million, expanding its schedule of concerts and raising substantially the overall sonorityof the group, as it can be certified by the testimony of any reviewer who follows the work of the orchestra. The undeniable progress that have been made in recent years underlies the support from the OSB to the artistic project signed by the conductor for the orchestra, which is not guided by what has hitherto been obtained, but by the commitment to develop and further enhance this work over the next five years.In such circumstances, the Foundation made a clear choice to go ahead in the qualification process for its music and its own organizational culture.

Just remember the pressures of the musicians on the artistic directors who preceded Minczuk. By refusing to accept one more constraint from part of its orchestra, the Foundation seeks to break with old institutional vices and strengthen a path in which the value of each musician resides in their own professional merit.That is why the International Selection Process calls for new musicians to the artistic and institutional design of the OSB. For years, we have had about 13 open positions in our orchestra, and that number was recently widened with the removal of the musicians who did not wish to follow the work of artistic enhancement of the OSB.

A total of 33 openings in various instruments are being offered by the Selection Process, with conditions of competitiveness in the international concert music market.By clarifying the whole process that led to the removal of some musicians, we would like to draw the attention of the International Federation of Musicians, not only to the legitimacy of the OSB Foundation’s actions, but as well to the effort in order to build a culture of excellence in the Brazilian symphony music. The auditions that will take place in Rio de Janeiro, London and New York in the coming weeks represent another step in this direction and we await the review of the FIM on the organized boycott to the OSB Selection Process.

Sincerely,

BRAZILIAN SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA FOUNDATION

artwork by Scott Gustafson

Brouhaha in Brazil

2011-04-14T17:04:00.000-07:00

Roberto Minczuk

After sorting through much of the dirty laundry in the Brazilian Symphony Orchestra (Orquestra Sinfonica Brasiliera) on Norman Lebrecht's Slipped Disc, I've come to the conclusion that many orchestral musicians are afflicted with group think and a heightened sense of entitlement. In an effort to raise the collective artistic quality of the Brazilian Symphony Orchestra to an international standard of top rank, music director Roberto Minczuk (protégé of Kurt Masur and artistic director of Theatro Municipal do Rio de Janeiro) and the Board of OSB proposed an equitable re-evaluation procedure for the entire orchestra, an ensemble plagued by insufficient artistic level.

After the organization celebrated its seventieth anniversary, fiscal conditions changed for the better, due to the sponsorship of private investors. These improvements now include a contract offering over 50 percent raise in salaries, a broader concert season, and an entire series devoted to chamber music, to be performed by all members of the orchestra.

Prior to 2006, auditions were held informally without adherence to industry standards, including the behind-the-screen aspect which is integral to impartial hiring. This lackadaisical and misguided approach resulted in the admittance of a number of substandard players. It might be noted that the privately funded Orquestra Sinfonica Brasiliera, in accordance with the Constitution, does not offer possibility of tenure. They are not breaking any laws here.

What I find admirable, is that rather than singling out individual players or turning colleagues into denouncers, or firing musicians for reasons that might be construed as personal biases, the Board of the Brazilian Symphony Orchestra Foundation has insisted on a formal screened evaluation process; one that, in my opinion, appears to be completely ethical; a five-strong panel comprised of impartial, leading musicians from the United States and Europe are to offer performance evaluations and constructive feedback for all musicians. Side note: the OSB members were given a month of paid vacation, in addition to the regular vacation of 41 days, to dedicate themselves fully to the audition. A letter to the orchestra members by Minczuk stated that none of the re-evaluation participants would be dismissed; only those who refused to audition would be let go; and this, in fact, has happened. Those who refused to audition were promptly dismissed. In his letter to the orchestra, Minczuk also stated, "We are fully aware that musicians that have been playing in the group for more than twenty years might not be in the same shape as younger players." Age itself would not be a liability.

Why do I react strongly in favor of this particular re-evaluation method? I'll tell you. Although principal players might be exposed during performances, that is not the case with the protected class of section musicians. Obviously, instrumentalists that were below par at the onset cannot suddenly catapult to top notch level by magical thinking. This begs the question: Why is it that in most other institutions, corporations, and organizations one is expected to submit to routine evaluations, but your average orchestral musician deems such a process "unfair"? Could it be that the loudest opponents sense the unveiling of a new business model—one that offers competitive standards?

I wish Maestro Roberto Minczuk strength on the podium in the face of entitled, self-satisfied group thinkers.

Bad Boy of Music

2011-04-05T16:31:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've heard the adage, "tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you who you are". George Antheil (1900 -1959) the self-proclaimed "bad boy of music" from Trenton, New Jersey kept close company with James Joyce, Pablo Picasso, Ezra Pound, Man Ray, Aaron Copland, George Balanchine, Jean Cocteau, and of course, his idol, Igor Stravinsky. After compositional studies with Ernest Bloch in New York City. Antheil spent most of his time in Europe from 1922 to 1933 before returning to Hollywood to work in the film industry. His well-known film scores include “Dementia”, “Once in a Blue Moon”, and “The Plainsman”.

In his autobiography, “Bad Boy of Music”, Antheil describes that in art, there have been but two basic phenomena, an inhalation and an exhalation. The first produces one series of art movements—among which we can include the so-called “classic”. It inhales, pulls in, restricts. The second produces an equally different general kind of art—into which we may place “the romantics”—Art remains healthy and alive only so long as its normal in-and-out breathing is not too long restricted—Art cannot hold its breath too long without dying. In the Sonatas for Violin and Piano featured on this disc, including the world premiere recording of the unfinished Sonata for Violin Solo (1927), superbly rendered by violinist Mark Fewer, Antheil proves an innovative and imaginative forerunner of today’s eclectic modernist composers.

It was in Paris that Antheil described his works in time-space terms; the new fourth dimension of composition; the machine music of the future. George Antheil infused his works with the wild rhythms and raw vitality of modern machinery and industry. In “Ballet Mécanique”, a composition which caused pandemonium in Paris, the piece was scored for ten pianos, one mechanical piano, six xylophones, two bass drums, a wind machine with a regulation airplane propeller and a siren. His radical mixture of jazz, discords, and cacophony caused him notoriety. Antheil’s original title for the work might be revealing: Message to Mars.

Antheil’s two first violin sonatas (1923) were commissioned by Ezra Pound for his mistress Olga Rudge, a fine concert violinist, originally from Boston, renown for her dark beauty and penetrating lower register on the violin. While concentrating on the First Violin Sonata, Antheil faced a period of intense, compositional writer’s block. It was during that time he set out for the exotic land of Tunis, and consciously absorbed the local Arabian music handed down from the centuries. This adventure ultimately enabled him to add more timbrel effects to his writing and break away from Stravinsky’s grip. He returned to Paris revitalized, and completed both the First and Second Violin Sonata. Both works are filled with dissonant melodies, parodies of popular folk songs, and a sense of humor.

The performance on this CD by violinist Mark Fewer and pianist John Novacek is first rate. Both artists convey the versatility, intensity and dynamism inherent in Antheil’s eclectic style. Fewer and Novacek switch effortlessly from the primal pounding rhythms inspired by Stravinsky, which obviously require much stamina, to the pastiche of ragtime, vaudeville, tango, tin pan alley, fox trot and jazz. With incisive and well-muscled playing, they captivate the difficult effects required in Antheil’s compositions. The range of both instruments are pushed to the limit—hand clusters and glissandi on the piano, and unconventional sound effects, including arpeggiated chords played percussively behind the bridge and non-pitched scratches from the violin. For sheer virtuosity and panache, this recording is a towering achievement.

Dubious Deals

2011-03-31T12:43:00.000-07:00

photo from newimagecostumes.ca

This morning I glanced at Norman Lebrecht's breaking news on Slipped Disc and almost fell off my chair: Swiss police arrest major violin dealer. You can read all about it in The Strad publication.

Ilkka and I had some interesting experiences with violin dealer Dietmar Machold beginning in 2000. He ventured to Seattle from Vienna with a few instruments including a couple of Strads. As Ilkka and I were both concertmasters of the local orchestras, Machold suggested that we perform at various events using one of his Stradivarius violins. He was wooing a group of local investors into jointly purchasing the instrument which was price-tagged in the millions. And with Machold's soft-spoken, European charm, most found him to be irresistable.

We were allowed to borrow the violin on one condition. We'd be "on call" to play the Strad and talk up the instrument's rare qualities at unique functions arranged by Machold Rare Instruments and his Seattle lackey, a colossal egotist. This way we'd be free to play the violin whenever we desired. Ilkka, with his dog's sense, smelled a rat immediately. In terms of sound the Strad was way past its prime, crafted prior to the luthier's Golden Age; certainly not worth the hefty price tag. It was obvious that the instrument had been thinned (which shortens the life span) and revarnished to the point that it gleamed. I have an unpleasant memory of playing the Strad at a private luncheon for local bigwigs. A drunken philanthropist reached up after my performance of unaccompanied Bach and thrust two hundred dollar bills down my bra. Someone had to pry him away, possibly his wife. As it turned out, there were no buyers here in Seattle, and for a short duration Machold, his lackey, and the over-priced violins were out of our midst.

Then a funny thing happened on the way to Carnegie Hall. My husband was ordered by the Semi-conductor to play on one of Machold's other violins—a Guadagnini? Gagliano?—(can't seem to recall) for purposes of generating interest with local investors for the orchestra. The instrument was initially spotted in the hands of the conductor's protégé during 2003 season, but even she rejected the violin, sensing that it was seriously flawed. Since my husband was told that he had to perform with this particular instrument on tour, he looked for an obvious way to boost its tired croaking sound. Ilkka finally settled on a shoulder cradle which, by its design, actually amplifies the tone. But, wouldn't you know, he was ordered by the conductor to "play softer"and thus, placed in a disadvantageous situation in performance against the entire orchestra.

A few years later, Machold's reputation was tainted when New Jersey Symphony led an inquiry into the collection of "rare" instruments sold to them by Herbert Axelrod. The inquiry was focused on whether Axelrod had knowingly inflated the value of instruments as a means of padding his tax deductions. The appraisals were performed by none other than Dietmar Machold of Machold Rare Instruments. Some of the appraisals were indeed found false.

In 2005, Herbert Axelrod was sentenced by U.S. Court to eighteen months in prison for tax fraud.

Music Worth Remembering

2011-03-29T13:54:00.000-07:00

I still remember the day I returned home from an errand and switched on the television to the local educational channel. On the screen was a baton wielder in the midst of an interview relating his connection to the Holocaust; he had recently composed a work in memory of his grandparents that were murdered in Riga. I examined the familiar, round, jovial face on the screen and asked myself: How could someone who had personally suffered the legacy of Nazi extermination through familial relations perpetuate the sardonic action of banishing colleagues? At various times during my career, I've been struck by the sad realization that the oppressed can, and often do, turn into oppressors themselves.

By now the world is well aware of the injustices heaped upon not only Jewish artists during the Holocaust, but the decent souls who stood in the line of their defense. Clearly, to deny an established and well-respected artist the right to work, or to be heard and read, as in the case of Viennese author and playwright Stefan Zweig, is to blot out his identity and existence. We know that all of humanity stands to lose when its creative forces are silenced. One cannot help but contemplate the amount of sheer talent and genius that was extinguished at the self-destructive hands of the Third Reich.

Recently I reconnected with Bob Elias, President of The OREL Foundation. I clicked on this site and listened to an audio welcome by founder and artistic director, James Conlon. The OREL Foundation, through their website, is devoted to providing a resource for scholars, musicians, and music lovers. Its aim is to inspire further research and performances of music by composers banned and suppressed from 1933-1945. I couldn't believe the wealth of material on this website available for exploration.

The Dwarf: Rodrick Dixon (L.A. Opera)

As I perused this repository of musical treasures, many of which were unfamiliar to me, I felt a yearning to surround myself with more books and materials devoted to this important subject. For starters, I viewed the live Los Angeles Opera production of Viennese composer Alexander Zemlinsky's one-act masterpiece, "Der Zwerg" or "The Dwarf" based on Oscar Wilde's fairy tale "The Birthday of the Infanta" on DVD. The story is about a cruel and spoiled Spanish princess "Infanta" that is sent an ugly dwarf by the Turkish sultan as a gift for her eighteenth birthday. The dwarf has never been allowed to see his reflection in the mirror; therefor, he is unaware of his hideous appearance and believes that others laugh at him because they are charmed by his good nature (God has created us all blind to ourselves). As the princess coyly pretends to be enchanted by the dwarf, even teasing him about prospective marriage, he falls hopelessly in love with her. When the dwarf ultimately sees his reflection in the mirror, and learns the cruel truth, that he's a hideous monster and has merely been a plaything, he convulses in despair and dies from a broken heart.

Zemlinsky's expressive score is spell-binding. Orientalist idioms recall those of Mahler and lighter sections, those of Lehar. The music is perfectly suited to Wilde's fairy-tale plot, although the opera's psychological complexity might have been somewhat of an obstacle to its initial success. Ridiculed for having been "ugly as sin" and referred to as "the gnome" by his lover, the Viennese femme fatale, Alma Schindler (who later married Gustav Mahler and a few other leading men), "The Dwarf" might be the closest window we can crack open to probe Zemlinsky's wounded self-image. Although he emigrated to the United States in 1938 to join his brother-in-law, composer Arnold Schoenberg, after having witnessed strong anti-semitism in Vienna, Zemlinsky lived out the remainder of his years in relative obscurity.

My exploration continues. In the next day or two, I'll receive Franz Schreker's "Die Gezenchneten".
I fell madly in love with this prelude. Listen yourself. You might catch strains of "Star Trek: The Movie".

The Turning Point

2011-03-09T12:58:00.000-08:00

My memoir "Frantic" seems to have resonated with an astonishingly gifted eighteen-year-old violinist from the Iberian Peninsula. He reached out to me with these words: Having come across your memoir and being currently in the process of reading it, I found my heart sinking at numerous passages, both the ones whose situations I could relate to and the ones I never came close to experiencing.

My new reader, from the age of four, has been molded into an accomplished violinist having made his debut at the age of eight, and now, is a full-fledged artist; I listened with admiration to a recording of the Tchaikovsky Concerto he sent this way. This young man became a violinist, in part, to please parents and esteemed, highly sought-after mentors for he is bestowed with natural abilities. But like most teenagers, he is now conflicted by the toll and demands the art form snatches from his youth. I find myself reading his words as if from a page of poetry. My spirit connects with his as he unburdens his heart:
My violin teacher asked me what my free time was like, and it was then that my blood completely froze. I loved music, but music is about life; in Zigeunerweisen are the bonfires of the Gypsies, in Beethoven's Spring Sonata the Viennese gardens. I couldn't give up on life—i.e., my precious free time—for the sake of those dreaded scales and exercises! It would be like tearing down a house, regardless of its cracks and paint smears, in order to labor tirelessly and put up the flawless painting of a house in its place. What for? I could certainly not live there.

And a bit later, a probing assessment:
I've met more stressed than happy musicians. I've met the accompanists with fully booked schedules and piles of sheet music to learn, the orchestra musicians with long rehearsals and back pain, and many of those people who studied hard in the most prestigious schools. What for? The fact that music, a food of the soul rather than a cold austere exact science, must be worked for the same way (or maybe more so) as accounting or engineering is a disheartening concept to grasp, one which may often miss the perception of general audiences, but which I, as a supposedly aspiring musician, can't hope to neglect if I really am serious about what lays ahead of me. And why I ought to be serious is the question that plagues my mind daily.

Since my memoir "Frantic" concludes at about the age of this reader, he asks that I expand upon the experience of studying with Jascha Heifetz, and what my present perspective is regarding the classical music profession. I will happily oblige for all readers out there, young and old.

In the final chapter of "Frantic" Jascha Heifetz enters the class nonchalantly and remarks off-handedly that all human beings are members of the animal kingdom. I believe Heifetz was attempting to set the record straight; to level the playing field; in class, we were all to be equals, including our mentor, the legendary Jascha Heifetz himself. But then, with a light touch of humor, he directed the class to acknowledge that unlike animals, or the herd, we were each responsible for our own actions. With Heifetz, every single facet of his life appeared to be a conscious act of will and self-determination. Though he may have felt nervous prior to performances, he imparted this message to students: If I do not display confidence in my work, who will have confidence in me? Before launching into a scale, he'd warn: Don't be afraid of the scale; make the scale afraid of you! He seemed convinced by the power of mind over matter as a means to prevail over impulse; he recognized the force of opposites; the triumph of the spirit. Heifetz was not to be duped. I was dismissed from the class, along with several other members at the end of the year, in part because (as my young reader might best comprehend), Jascha Heifetz felt that I was conflicted about becoming a violinist in the first place. That ambivalence manifested itself in my temerity during class. The choice of becoming a violinist had not been mine, he noted; I was the vessel for my mother's musical desires. Heifetz then advised me to depart from the class and sort things out for myself.

My young reader and I agree that to become a classical artist might be compared with the priesthood or ministry. It is fair to conceive of music as a calling. In a marvelous book about Yehudi Menuhin by his nephew, the Los Angeles writer Lionel Rolfe, entitled "The Menuhins: A Family Odyssey" it is revealed that Menuhin was a direct descendant of Russian rabbis who created the mystical sect of Judaism known as Hassidism. Rolfe describes his uncle as having been a kind of latter-day musical Baal Shem, the 18th century Russian Hasidic prophet. For Menuhin, playing the violin was a spiritual quest; his life was one of sacrifice devoted to the service of mankind through art. Practicing, like the call to prayer, was a pursuit leading to his own enlightenment and through performance, an offering of glory to the world.

We cannot all be like Heifetz or Menuhin, of course. In response to today's consumer driven, technological absorption, it might be wise for a talented young artist to think long and hard about the bumpy road that lies ahead for the future of the arts. I secretly wonder whether Heifetz or Menuhin would have succeeded as concert violinists in today's superficial, self-centered culture.

Terminator One and Two

2011-03-05T11:28:00.000-08:00

The classical music scene is shifting in Seattle. As the final weeks of a musical leadership draw to a close (but not soon enough), our phone machine is filled with deliriously happy messages from colleagues, near and far.
"He's leaving...finally," blurts one musician, "and his cronies along with him! That player just resigned...but we all know what that term 'resignation' really means!"
Another message.
"Break out the champagne! It'll be a new dawn; a psychological cleanse; c'mon; we'll heal together."
Another.
"There'll be one hell of a party sailing around Lake Washington. Soon! Let's begin the count down. But don't you even think about bringing a cell phone to this one!"

I open my e-mail and find copies of recent press releases with glowing praise for a first chair player stepping down. My, how the organization displays its double standards! Back in the days when my husband served as concertmaster (for over twenty years), and was illegally terminated, he wasn't the recipient of praise or gratitude from the media, but the victim of harrowing abuse, thanks to the terminator himself, who appeared to have an agenda of destroying our livelihoods for the sake of his favorite.

I'll let it be known that my husband never required multiple takes for violin solos during recording sessions. With the clock ticking (every minute is very costly to a symphony orchestra) and displaying the composure of a brave Finnish soldier, I recall hearing only words of praise from the terminator for Ilkka's astonishing ability to nail difficult solos in one smooth take. Then, of course, there was the work ethic. I believe it's an inherited trait from a long line of hard-working Finns; I witness this marvelous attitude through our own children. The unspoken rule is that one never calls in sick unless one is practically slumped at death's door. Organizations might do well to applaud employees with such commitment and honor them, rather than giving them the boot.

Unlike others in the orchestra milieu, Ilkka never abused the system. Take, for example, an ingrown toe-nail, lack of night's sleep, or tooth-ache; none of those would have qualified as legitimate reasons to take time away from work, as it has for others. It goes without saying, that he'd never have failed to show up ten minutes prior to a concert just to spite a soloist.

And another thing. (You can tell I'm all keyed up this morning.) My husband didn't have it in him to blow the whistle on colleagues; to be a kapos; to wield a stick over others and browbeat them. No. The boss was out to terminate a couple of naughty violinists and Ilkka wouldn't comply. Let's just say that complicity is not his thing. Perhaps someone else in my husband's position wouldn't have thought twice about destroying others, and perhaps such a fembot actually took over my husband's position. Perhaps a battle was won but the war was lost. Might it be that a few got a taste of their own medicine, finally?

It is said that what goes around comes around. Law of Talion. Talvion.

Sharan Leventhal and the Kepler Quartet

2011-02-25T08:46:00.000-08:00

Violinist Sharan Leventhal

When I was a youngster attending Ivan Galamian's string camp Meadowmount, I was initiated into the wonderful world of violinist Sharan Leventhal. She was a couple of years older than myself, and had a unique talent for sparking everyone's imaginative capabilities. I seem to recall that I could visit her room in Main House anytime during practice hours—an action that was strictly forbidden—and she would take me on a journey through the Bach A Minor Concerto, which all of the young violinists were expected to learn; she'd practice alongside of me. When Sharan played Bach's music, there was so much vitality that you could visualize the composer as a mischievous, fun-loving friend rather than a stuffy periwigged bust on the mantelpiece. There was a seductive quality to Sharan's practice technique. After an adventure with Bach, she'd segue right into "Turkey in the Straw" and cause me to double over with laughter. She'd then conclude our practice session with "Hot Canary".

I still consider Sharan Leventhal's room at Meadowmount to have been the gravitational center of the Main House activities. I'll never forget when I entered one day during off-limit practice hours, and found her engrossed in painting the white blank walls with a fantastic array of blues and greens for an ocean scene, complete with a marvelously voluptuous orange and yellow mermaid. "Sharan, won't you get in trouble for this? I mean, it's against the rules to paint the walls, and you're supposed to be practicing!" But she shrugged and proceeded to pencil sketch a giant starfish with surrounding exotic sea-life, and then resumed painting. Before long, the room was awash in color, like her imaginative violin playing.

Then, of course, there were the nightly seances, after curfew, that Sharan hosted in her room in secrecy. We must have spent countless hours trying to contact the spirit of actress Sharan Tate, murdered by the Charles Manson gang, and other dead souls. I tried to channel my grandmother that summer but to no avail. Sharan had a penchant for delving into other-worldly spheres, perhaps an early indicator of her keen interest and dedication to unconventional and non-traditional music, as well as the talent she has for breathing life into standard repertoire.

In a recent telephone call to her home outside of Boston, where she teaches at Boston Conservatory and Brandeis, I inquired about her latest musical endeavors. I heard the enthusiasm in her voice as she described her commitment to performing the works of living, breathing, vital composers. She has premiered the violin concertos of Bob Aldridge and Scott Wheeler, to name a few.

With her colleagues from the Boston Conservatory, second violinist Eric Segnetz, violist Brek Renzelman, and cellist Karl Lavine of the Kepler String Quartet, they have just released the second of a series of American composer Ben Johnston's quartets for New World Records. The Kepler Quartet was formed specifically for the preservation and presentation of this large body of work. "Making these recordings was an exploration along the lines of discovering the North Pole or being the first to climb Mt. Everest," she said.

The first composition presented on this new release is Quartet No. 5, based on an Appalachian gospel tune, "The Lonesome Valley". The extended just intonation in this work offered composer Ben Johnston an opportunity to present harmonic, melodic, and contrapuntal textures using a mutable tuning system. This type of tuning lends the music a strange quality, meant to evoke Psalm 23 in the Old Testament: the valley refers to the valley of the shadow of death. So haunting are the actual sounds, that I feel as if I'm experiencing my own dissolution and death.

In the tenth Quartet, the work opens with a jazzy polyrhythmic style (the first violin and cello are out of synch with each other) while displaying a harmony that is tonal but extended in a playful way. In one dazzling passage, the first violin launches into a riff that recalls the naturalness and ease of my favorite Jazz violinist, Stephane Grappeli. The shimmer vibrato and lush tone that Sharan infuses in her solo line emphasizes the characteristic bold colors of her playing.

The final quartet featured on this disc, "Nine Variations" is avant-grade, as Johnston composed the work in his early thirties and used the technique of serialism. There is no theme in this work. The nine movements alternate between slow and fast, calm and energetic. Although I'm not enamored of these variations...yet...they do encourage the listener to hear music in a different way through silences, shrieks, and utterances.

I found my husband Ilkka's reaction to the disc most interesting. Blessed with perfect pitch and synesthesia (the mixing up of senses) he hears pitches accompanied with visions of colors. I begged him to come down to the studio and listen to a few movements with me to find out which hues flashed through his mind. As he listened to the assortment of these non-traditional tones with the expanded pitch vocabulary encompassing 150 steps into an octave rather than 12, he suffered a bout of sensory overload and panic attack (similar to what he experiences in shopping malls), and, before I knew it, fled the studio!

Winter Conversations for Two Violins

2011-02-22T12:26:00.000-08:00

I became acquainted with multi-talented composer Elaine Fine through her marvelous blog Musical Assumptions. It is a treat for me to begin my mornings by reading her posts which reflect her broad and diverse understanding of the fine arts. Although we grew up in the Boston area around the same era, our paths hadn't crossed as youngsters. I suppose that might be because my mother schlepped me back and forth to New York City for all-day classes at Juilliard Pre-College while Elaine participated in Greater Boston Youth Symphony Orchestra activities.

When I published my blog Frantic many of my characters, such as Sarah Scriven and Harry Ellis Dickson, had significant influence during Elaine's youth, as she is the daughter of Boston Symphony's former principal violist, Burton Fine. After reminiscing about our mutual experiences over the internet and by telephone, we struck up a delightful friendship. One day I told Elaine that although I physically reside in Seattle, my emotional ties in music are elsewhere. I shared with her the turmoil that became our reality in 2004 at the behest of a local conductor and his cronies. From that year forward, local colleagues became, in my eyes, betrayers, especially after I was forced into resignation from the ballet as concertmaster. Ilkka and I were no longer invited to partake in most musical events; we felt like characters in a "Twilight Zone" episode or Kafka novel, not knowing what, exactly, we had done to deserve such mistreatment. Regrettably, it's not unusual for the victim, rather than the tormenter, to blame him or herself, and I explained to Elaine that for years afterwards, I avoided social interaction all together.

Perhaps because Elaine witnessed factionalism in the professional orchestra through her father's prominent position, she empathized with what Ilkka and I had experienced. She reminded me to focus on music's true mission, as a means of ennobling and healing the human spirit. I have grown to accept and recognize that there is more out there, much more, than being a cog in the wheel, or an orchestra musician. Each one of us holds a key to enrich the lives of others.

Elaine Fine has composed a set of "conversations" for two violins specifically tailored for us. It is a delight to delve into fresh compositions. As I've mentioned before, to introduce new works is a bit like being a midwife in the birthing process; each composition reveals its own personality like a human being. The first work in the series recalls to my mind elements of Bartok's style; the second is a fusion of a Finnish folk-song and Yiddish melody. I requested that Elaine not go easy on us technically; we love for ourselves and students to be challenged! In the third of the series, which is yet to be recorded, she weaves in the vitality of a Wieniawski Caprice with Chopin, and in the fifth, Elaine suggests the Norwegian composer, Edvard Grieg stylistically. For some reason, the fourth conversation, a hauntingly beautiful dialogue which evokes Jewish neshama or soul, just moves me to tears. Here it is:

Remembering Sidney Harth

2011-02-16T15:45:00.000-08:00

To colleagues and students, his name might have been Sidney Heart. After learning of the death of violinist and conductor Sidney Harth, I recall with fondness his years as Music Director of the Northwest Chamber Orchestra during the late 80's and early 90's. Initially, I felt a certain amount of apprehension at his appointment; I was, after all, a relatively young concertmaster; it may have been somewhat intimidating to have had a preeminent violinist loom in front of me on the podium. Similar in physique to the Belgian violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, Harth could pick up his violin and make everyone around him appear as inadequate students. But he never demeaned or belittled any one of his colleagues. What I sensed while working with Sidney over the years was a man of limitless understanding, a paternal figure willing, at any moment, to encourage and support a friend, student or colleague.

True to Sidney Harth's generous character, he offered me a solo opportunity every year with the chamber orchestra, though, I'm sure if he had wished, he could have performed the entire violin repertoire season after season. But I remember how he insisted that a concertmaster must enjoy first dibs at solo opportunities; at least Sidney had over the years in his capacity as leader of the Louisville Orchestra, Chicago Symphony under Fritz Reiner, Puerto Rico Music Festival with Pablo Casals, and Los Angeles Philharmonic under Zubin Mehta. And he wanted nothing more than for me to choose any piece I desired to perform. It was as fun for him to conduct the accompaniment as it was for me to play solo.

An unforgettable highlight in my career was the collaboration with Sidney in the double concertos of Bach and Vivaldi. On one such occasion, Sidney playing first violin, took the final movement of the Vivaldi hair-raisingly fast. The movement gathered furious momentum after the opening, and nearly derailed. We concluded the performance and headed backstage. I didn't feel comfortable critiquing the maestro but knew we had to settle the tempo before the repeat performance on the following day.
"Gee, it felt a bit f-f-fast," I found myself announcing, as my heart rate finally returned to normal.
He looked at me in earnest. "Tell me, Marge. Honey, did I rush a little?"
"A little?" I asked.
"At rehearsals too? Because I know that's my tendency—"
I nodded.
"Now listen," Sidney said. "If ever do that again, you tell me! I need to be reminded, that's all."
I laughed.
"No, really. Don't wait till the concert. Just say, Sid, it's time to practice with the metronome—and you know, Marge, I'll do it!"

Often after our Northwest Chamber Orchestra concerts, my mother would visit backstage to congratulate the artists. I got a little nervous as she insisted on meeting Sidney Harth in his dressing room. One never knew what my mother might say! She introduced herself to Sidney. He threw his arms around her, the inimitable bear hug of his; it was the sort of hug that leaves you gasping for air. The next thing I knew the two of them were rattling away in Yiddish. "I get so much nakhes from your mother," he was to tell me many times over. "She's the dearest person, and her Yiddish is beautiful. And what's more—because I heartily countered every one of his assessments—she brought you into this world!"

During his formidable career, Sidney Harth won the Naumberg Award in 1949 and was the first American to take the Second Prize at the Wieniawski Competition in 1957. His guest appearances included engagements with symphony orchestras of New York, Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Warsaw, and Brussels, under such conductors as Reiner, Ormandy, Leinsdorf, Barbirolli, Steinberg and Mehta. At the time of his death, Mr. Harth was director of orchestral studies at Duquesne University. He had been professor and chairman of the Carnegie Mellon University from 1963-73. He also served on the faculty of the Yale School of Music. For a wonderful glimpse into his pedagogy, I recommend the book: "The Way They Play" by Samuel Applebaum and Henry Roth. He is featured in Book Five of the series.

Photo of Sidney Harth from "The Way They Play"

The Uncommon Friendship of Yaltah Menuhin and Willa Cather

2011-02-11T15:17:00.000-08:00

In the book, "The Uncommon Friendship of Yaltah Menuhin & Willa Cather" acclaimed author Lionel Rolfe (The Menuhins: A family Odyssey, Literary L.A. and Fat Man on the Left: Four Decades in the Underground) has delved into his fascinating family history to reveal the extraordinary story of the friendship between novelist Willa Cather, and his mother, piano prodigy Yaltah Menuhin (1920-2001), sister of legendary violinist Yehudi Menuhin. Rolfe's mother Yaltah was repeatedly discouraged from pursuing a musical career by her parents Moshe and Marutha who were Russian Jewish emigres to San Francisco where Moshe was superintendent of the city's Hebrew School. Yehudi was the eldest; Hephzibah, the middle daughter; and Yaltah, the youngest. They were all musical prodigies but Yehudi, the first born son, was the favored child. Hephzibah, not unlike Mozart's sister Nannerl, was allowed to perform as a pianist, but mainly as an accompanist to her brother. Yaltah, who might have been the most dedicated and talented of the three, was given little, if any, emotional support for her own musical aspirations.

Willa Cather or "Aunt Willa" provided the perfect counterbalance to Yaltah's mother, Marutha, who only allowed Yaltah and her sister Hephzibah to study piano as a means for attracting a husband. In Rolfe's intimate account of the Menuhin household, his grandmother Marutha, a "ruthless woman" displayed continued hostility and resentment toward Yaltah, reminding her youngest that her birth was unplanned—the result of a faulty diaphragm. As a youngster, while her sister Hephzibah accompanied Yehudi during concerts, Marutha reprimanded Yaltah for not being content cooking, scrubbing, and sewing for her brother and sister.

The relationship between novelist Willa Cather and the Menuhin household began in France, as the family was seeking a teacher for Yehudi. Cather was in Paris at the same time visiting mutual acquaintances. Yehudi was given an opportunity to play for the legendary violinist, Eugene Ysaÿe, by then an elderly man. Although Ysaÿe accepted Yehudi as a pupil, and recognized his immense talent, the Menuhin family chose instead to further little Yehudi's studies with Ysaÿe's pupil Louis Persinger in New York City. Besides, there was no way the family could remain in Europe on the eve of the Holocaust. Shortly after first meeting Willa Cather in 1930, the Menuhins made Manhattan their home base and enlisted Cather as a private tutor for the children. Her duties were to instruct them in Shakespeare and American Literature.

Willa Cather was one of the few people Marutha Menuhin entrusted with her children's home-schooling education. The connection was surprising given that Willa had previously written about musical prodigies as if they were circus freaks. But according to Edith Lewis, Willa's lifelong companion, the children "were not only the most gifted children Willa Cather had ever known, with that wonderful aura of imaginative charm, prescience, inspiration, that even the most gifted lose after they grow up; they were also extremely lovable, affectionate, and unspoiled; in some ways naive, in others sensitive and discerning far beyond their years." Willa was granted permission to take the children outdoors (Marutha preferred to keep them out of public view)—and when she did, it was often Central Park at six in the morning to discuss philosophy, art, religion and life. Willa was not only the children's mentor—especially Yaltah's—she was their playmate. Perhaps divining the tension between mother and youngest daughter, Aunt Willa would take Yaltah to see plays, attend operas, visit museums and art galleries.

Rolfe makes a strong case that Yaltah might have been the inspiration for the heroine of the novella "Lucy Gayheart". She was, after all, composing the story at the time when she regularly saw the Menuhin family. Cather was one of the first novelists to write about women who follow their own muse—women as artists rather than wives and mothers.

A musician's musician, Yaltah Menuhin was a regular on the concert stages, but her influence went far beyond that. When a young musician needed an endorsement for a Fulbright scholarship, her word was like gold. She recommended both violinist Eudice Shapiro and cellist Gabor Rejto for teaching positions in the music department of the University of Southern California. Yaltah Menuhin pioneered the works of Castelnuovo-Tedesco, George Antheil, Ernst Krenek and Walter Piston, among others. And for guidance and strength, Yaltah Menuhin returned to the lessons her mentor and friend Willa Cather had to impart, time and time again. "The Uncommon Friendship of Yaltah Menuhin & Willa Cather" has moved me to further explore their shared gifts. For starters, here's a beautiful recording of Yaltah Menuhin performing Beethoven's Waldstein.

Musical Bridge Egypt-Finland

2011-02-05T19:03:00.000-08:00

As chaos sweeps through Egypt and ripples throughout the entire Middle East, I realize my knowledge of that region is limited. Being a Jew, I feel protective of Israel and fear for the nation's future. I follow the news as best I can with an eye toward Israel's safety but, as an outsider, I rarely know what to believe from the media.

Realizing that my dear friend and colleague, Finnish conductor and pianist Ralf Gothóni helped to create the "Musical Bridge Egypt-Finland" in 2004, and was scheduled for performances in Cairo this week but had to cancel due to the internal conflicts, I asked him for a more intimate perspective. I met Ralf Gothóni in 2001, when he marked his first guest appearance with Northwest Chamber Orchestra in Seattle as pianist and conductor. He was immediately appointed the position of Music Director after his highly acclaimed performances and maintained that post until the orchestra's unfortunate demise by corrupt, dictatorial, musical community leaders in 2006. Unlike so many self-serving artists, Ralf Gothóni's mission is one of relatedness through musical exploration. For me, Ralf imparted a level of transcendent musical awareness that I never before experienced. I find myself wondering selfishly if our paths crossed for that reason alone. His philosophy has stuck with me to the point that no matter what obstacles I face, personal or professional, I remember this underlying wisdom that he imparted:

What we are doing is trying to understand the logic of musical feelings, how the energy in music functions when there are more than just two or three people involved, what is the motivation for the piece, why the composer wrote it as he did. There are things everyone must find for themselves. It's not a matter of someone saying 'This is the way to do it'. We have a dialogue. It's different with every group, every person you make music with, because each brings his or her own perspective. Musicians are merely a medium for a musical truth. We should be like crystals through which the light is refracted in many different ways. But to do that, the crystal must be clear: it's very easy to make it dirty. That's the problem. How can we develop ourselves to be as clear as possible in this short life?

With the help of the Finnish Embassy in Cairo, and Savonlinna Music Academy (which Gothóni is Artistic Director), artists, scientists, politicians including the Nobel Peace Prize laureate, Martti Ahtisaari, the idea of a musical collaboration between Egypt and Finland was born. Ralf's longterm goal for the Musical Bridge is that of bringing classical music to the students of Cairo in the form of "homeopathic pills"; especially in the way of chamber musical understanding of the structures, emotions and human connections. The people in Ralf's circle have expressed a desire for a free islamic country with European-like freedom, without fundamentalism, dictatorship but also without strong Western capitalism. He has never sensed any negativity toward the Israelis. This message alone offers me tremendous hope.

The Egyptian musicians are open with their minds and hearts. Music touches them deeply. In the two professional orchestras of Cairo, the instruments are of poor quality and the salaries are substandard. But Ralf assures me that the enthusiasm is very different from anything here, for life is difficult and nothing is taken for granted. Many of the students have continued their studies during the summer in Savonlinna, Finland and also in Germany.

Which brings me to acknowledge that I consider my work with Ralf Gothóni to have been the pinnacle of my performing career, for he instilled this philosophy which I hope to transmit to students:
Music is for us musicians a lifetime vocation. Our challenge, responsibility and mission is to practice ourselves to open the door of spiritual self-knowledge and to share it.

A Gift

2011-01-29T21:14:00.000-08:00

Image from fanart-central.net

In the documentary "First Person Singular" which is a glimpse into the life of writer Elie Wiesel, he speaks of growing up in the town of Sighet, Romania on the eve of the Shoah. This film is a revelation to me in the manner that Wiesel describes music in relation to words (he grew up playing the violin in the same village as Josef Szigeti, paying for his lessons with brandy as he had no money; when the bottle of brandy ran out, the lesson was over); he shares his philosophy about teaching and his love for Bach and Beethoven. I especially find helpful Wiesel's penetrating insight into the many gifts we receive from strangers as long as our ears, eyes and hearts remain open. In his view it is the stranger that holds the key to teach us much about ourselves.

Upon my completion of the memoir Frantic, I received many heartfelt messages from various readers, near and afar, many of whom I had never met. I'm most grateful to all, and can boast that a particular e-mail with a few words of praise made me feel as if I had won the Pulitzer Prize, for the messenger is the progeny of a legendary violinist.

I purposely concluded my childhood memoir at a point when I enter the masterclass of Jascha Heifetz. There is much to be written about that experience, of course, and I intend to continue in the near future, but one of the aspects of learning under such a unique artist was that his suggestions were always straight to the point and never convoluted by jargon. "It's just as easy to play in tune as out of tune. So why not play in tune?" Heifetz would ask his students.

I'm reminded of this in part because of a meaningful book I received in the mail from a cellist of renown:
Practice for Performance for Cello and Related String Instruments by Daniel Morganstern.
It is a slim volume packed with useful tips for practice and performance. As a student of both Channing Robbins and Leonard Rose, Mr. Morganstern shares with his readers advice such as "any method of practicing that makes a passage more difficult results in greater security when returning to the original version." The tricks include practicing everything with reverse bowings, practicing in each third of the bow, and playing one octave higher. In a section entitled "Bilateral Transfer" Morganstern writes of the tendency of one side of the body to influence the other. These words strike a chord with me, as my former teacher, Erick Friedman, made a point of using this method to free up tension. I was advised to lead with the bow whenever the left hand had complex passagework, and I felt immediate relief. In Mr. Morganstern's case, it was Channing Robbins who emphasized the use of bilateral transfer by concentrating on the work of the "easier hand"; concentrating on the right arm during shifts, and focusing on the vibrato oscillation during the length of a sustained note. In another section entitled "Using Syllables," Mr. Morganstern delves into the loosening effect provided by mentally syllabalizing notes of a solo with words. This is a wonderful way to suffuse every note with meaning while maintaining a steady and relaxed pulse.

As I look ahead to performing the Beethoven Violin Concerto with Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra in May, I will keep this helpful guide to practicing and performance right on my music stand alongside of the score. Morganstern closes his book with a final thought: To spend one's life in the company of genius is the major compensation of being a musician. I couldn't agree more. A valuable gift from a stranger; now hopefully, a life-long friend.

Mr. Clean

2011-01-20T12:27:00.000-08:00

Reading this article about Baltimore Symphony and its balanced budget makes me curious. Of course, what with the economic uncertainty that symphony orchestras face in this country, any posting of sustainability is encouraging.

In Baltimore Symphony's case, the budget was reduced to $24.3 million from $28.3 million the previous year. Cost reduction measures were taken across the board. BSO musicians volunteered $1 million in reduced pay and benefits and spear-headed a fundraising campaign called Music Matters. Music Director Marin Alsop contributed $50, 000 to that campaign while also donating back $100,000 in conducting fees.

"We're moving in a cautiously forward direction," said BSO president and CEO Paul Meecham. "It feels very different from last year."

And now. Can this man be trusted? It's not that I doubt Meecham's managerial prowess, it's just that my family was on the receiving end of deceit. As I explained to a cellist friend in Chicago, my views reflect personal experience. And some of it is rotten.

In May of 2004, while Paul Meecham was Executive Director of Seattle Symphony, he notified my husband that they were to meet in order to discuss Ilkka's contract. Since 1986, my husband's employment as concertmaster for Seattle Symphony had been subject to a joint individual contract with the Opera and the Symphony and to two separate collective bargaining agreements between the Union and the Symphony and the Opera. As my husband's last written JIC was for the 2002/03 season, he continued employment at both the symphony and opera without a signed agreement. His continuation to serve as concertmaster without the signature was based on good faith, as the organization was regularly delinquent.

Meecham ushered my husband into his office. It was just the two of them; Maestro Schwarz had made himself unavailable for the occasion. It was then and there that Paul Meechum stated that Schwarz desired "new leadership". My husband asked innocently: Is my position to be taken by so-and-so? Oh no, she's not good enough to be in the running. And Meecham went on to explain that the orchestra would be auditioning various violinists for my husband's post over the course of the season, beginning fall of 2004.

Although colleagues were by and large fearful of this new managerial approach, something which reminds me of the Kapos in concentration camps, the Union filed a grievance against the symphony on my husband's behalf. Although the Seattle Symphony rejected my husband's grievance of wrongful termination, the case proceeded to federal court with the Union seeking an order that his tenure provision created a binding right to employment. The court compelled the symphony to enter into arbitration. However, the case was settled through mediation.

I hope Meecham's cleaning methods have improved. He was fortunate to have found an ED position after having been booted out of Seattle.

Coda

2011-01-16T09:03:00.000-08:00

Tonight while I attended Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra's performance of German Masterworks at Nordstrom Hall, I couldn't help but sense that the void left by the demise of the Northwest Chamber Orchestra has been filled at last. It pleased me to watch and listen as this talented group of musicians, under the energetic leadership of founder and Music Director Geoffrey Larson, offered the completely packed hall a program of Beethoven, Schumann, and Brahms. The ensemble, comprised of young professionals who have each earned numerous accolades including competition awards, is relatively new to the local scene. I believe the Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra has an exciting future ahead.

Paul Shure

As I sat listening in the audience, I recalled many of my own rich and varied past experiences as a chamber orchestra player, for to me, there is almost nothing in music more gratifying. In 1978, as a newly elected member of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, I received my first taste of participating in a small ensemble. I was only nineteen years of age and had much to learn in terms of blending and diffusing my sound and style to match my veteran colleagues, but loved the work. The concertmaster of LACO, Paul Shure, who sadly passed away on December 8, 2010 at the age of 89, let it be known during my first probational year that I would have to tame my individual tendencies if I expected to remain within the group. Not infrequently, Paul would turn back, look at me, and say: Someone's holding the note too long. Or. One person in the section is playing on the string while the rest of us are off. Later. You know, all it takes is one to ruin it for the rest of us. After a sideways glance in my direction. By the way, no open E's.

I learned.

So, it was with trepidation that I reconnected with Paul Shure years later after he and his violinist wife, Bonnie Douglas, originally from Seattle, relocated and retired here. Paul had long been an admirer of my husband's violin playing and musicianship, having recommended Ilkka for the principal position of LACO and helped to establish his career in the film recording industry. I never imagined that Paul would become a devoted supporter and guide to me as well in my capacity as both soloist and first chair player for the Northwest Chamber Orchestra and Pacific Northwest Ballet. Whenever he and his wife Bonnie attended my performances, they would appear backstage with congratulatory words and gestures. Praise from Paul meant a great deal to me; unlike many others in this profession where superficiality reigns, Paul's manner was reliable and sincere; his knowledge, vast.

Paul Shure's career was laudable. After graduating with honors from Curtis Institute, he became the youngest member of the Philadelphia Orchestra under Leopold Stokowski and Eugene Ormandy. He served in the U.S. Navy during World War II, then became concertmaster for the Hollywood Bowl Symphony and was invited by Alfred Newman to join the 20th Century Fox studio recording orchestra. Paul was an original member of the Hollywood String Quartet which gained international acclaim through concerts and recordings. He performed under the batons of many legendary conductors, including Arturo Toscanini, Bruno Walter, Fritz Reiner, Igor Stravinsky, Pierre Boulez, Neville Marriner and William Steinberg. Paul was also concertmaster for the most sought after film composers, including Charles Fox, Bill Conti, Gerald Fried, Ernest Gold, Bernard Hermann, John Williams, and Jerry Goldsmith. In 1997, he was honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award from the International Classical Recording Publications and Critic's Society, and accepted the award in Cannes, France.

I feel privileged to have worked with Paul Shure, and grateful for all he taught me, which hopefully I too can pass along.

Reflections for the New Year

2011-01-02T10:28:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is 2011. I'd like to make a toast for a post. I'd like to thank my wonderful husband Ilkka for encouraging me to publish Frantic in weekly installments. When he offered the suggestion to post my memoir in blog format, I couldn't imagine doing anything of the sort. But then, Ilkka had a vision that was beyond my grasp. (Take note, dear readers: The soft-spoken, humble souls that whisper suggestions might actually be visionaries.) I had no idea that recollecting and sharing stories related to my life in music would bring so much joy, laughter and memories, not only to me, but to others from here and afar. I'm most grateful to the readers who have taken the time to send heartfelt messages of support and encouragement this way. They have also shared their own experiences, many of them similar to my own. My husband is already nudging me to begin a sequel with adventures through adulthood. For this purpose he surprised me with an i-Mac over the holidays. I'm also especially proud to be a contributing writer for Chamber Musician Today, a publication which I admire for its inclusivity and fun diversity.

Strange as it may seem, when I was growing up, I felt that my youth was mundane. I almost never had time for parties or social gatherings outside the musical commitments. But I can see that dedication spent in one art form feeds into another; the time and effort I spent devoted to music was not wasted, and I can apply the skills that I developed into other pursuits, such as writing and teaching. I have found that the characters I met along the way, on the journey so to speak, have become absorbed into the fibre of my being. Listening to music and shaping phrases has been a helpful guide for listening to words and trying to shape stories. At this point, I feel ever so fortunate to have lived the contemplative life of a growing artist. Bumps and bruises that I survived as a young person trying to attain the unattainable, in terms of performance standard, and interacting with artists from diverse backgrounds, paved the way for me to not only endure trials through later in life, but thrive.

Many readers from near and afar have shared intimate reflections about the beauty of music, their love for it, but have admitted to the unfortunate dark-side; the back-biting, jealousy and opportunism that gets in the way of joyful art and is so prevalent onstage and behind the scenes. One reader referred to that dark-side as the underbelly of the profession. By now, my blog readers understand the hardships and travails that my husband and I faced here, and they've responded by offering glimpses into their own narratives. The path of an artist is not an easy one, and takes courage and belief in one's mission.

Add to all this the additional angst as many arts groups are trying to survive budgetary cuts along with the decreasing demand for what we, as artists, wish to do. It's a time of redefining ourselves collectively. Here in Seattle, although organizations present an optimistic front, all is not well economically. Seattle Opera switched the repertoire for next summer's scheduled production of "Tannhäuser" and substituted it with "Porgy and Bess", due to poor ticket sales from last summer's "Ring Cycle" and low ticket sales for the current season. In other words, audiences will be treated to Opera Light. Artistic Director, Speight Jenkins, is currently taking a 20% pay reduction and opera staff will have a one day furlough per month this season.

According to local Wikileaks, the Seattle Symphony is undergoing a severe cash flow problem. Perhaps with the new Music Director, a new donor pool will emerge. The Pacific Northwest Ballet is due for contract negotiations with their musicians at the end of this season. Most dance companies are cutting costs by reducing orchestra size or substituting live music for canned. Naturally, it would be far more cost effective to employ a small complement of players as a core orchestra, and add free-lancers as needed, or just hire a pick-up crew, as that would relieve the burden of health insurance and other costly benefits for the organization.

And there are, of course, the struggling regional orchestras that boast of their "professionally-paid" musicians which makes them, well, professionals. I received a desperate letter not too long ago, from one of these orchestras, touting themselves and the maestro as World Class. "Please," the letter stated. "Magic comes at a price. As the economy slowed, we had to dip mightily into our reserves. Won't you help us?"

I, for one, would only consider helping an organization that would prove to honor basic core values, characterized by dignity, honesty, integrity, and serving the needs of the musicians through respectful communication. I wasn't fortunate enough to have experienced those values at my former workplaces. Perhaps while ushering in the new year, it is an opportune time to reflect on how we treat our fellow colleagues and artists. For, whenever a gifted member of the arts community is discarded and ill-treated, it is not only the artist, but the community itself which suffers the loss.

That's Show Biz

2010-12-15T09:53:00.000-08:00

Reading this article about Carrie Dennis, principal violist of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, offers more evidence that today's audiences mostly listen with their eyes. Although I admit that we are a visually preoccupied society, what with internet and videos, I remain old school when it comes to mentoring my students, for I believe a compelling artist allows the music to flow naturally, with ease, and speak for itself. Histrionics, in my opinion, distract from interpretive style, nobility, and technique. The playing of a thrasher becomes unreliant; precision of intonation and focused sound is ultimately lost; the direction of a flailing instrument can be likened to a moving target. Inflections and nuances which need to be subtly rendered become heavy-handed and overly accented. Thank you, but I do not wish to be hit over the head with an interpretive idea or a beat pattern.

It is sobering to realize that for today's concert-goers and ticket buyers, musicians are expected to satisfy the viewing more than the listening. In the case of Ms. Dennis, who is undeniably a capable player (I listened to her here and here), I can't imagine that her colleagues in the Los Angeles Philharmonic are equally pleased by her gyrations; do they coincide with the conductor's gestures or do they confuse? Are these excessive pop-star like moves simply a release of nervous, pent-up energy? Does it really serve the music to telegraph every delicate phrase with motions which might create whiplash, nausea, or at the very least, cause potential injuries to others? Even Ms. Dennis admits that her thrashings have caused a few collisions.

"Sometimes I get Dale Silverman's scroll (the top of her neighbor's viola) at my head. At Curtis my stand partner whipped her bow across my forehead and it drew blood."

Ilkka and I had, years ago, the strange experience of hosting a violinist with, what I believe to have had a split personality. One day she was Esther, and another day she was a whole new entity. No matter, although we were never quite certain which of those entities we had in front of us; we taught her and accommodated her needs, gratis. In any case, this young lady was a highly gifted player, with good chops, as they say in this business, meaning solid technique. She had been primarily trained in the Netherlands, where her main teacher had coached her to perform a succession of choreographic moves meant to bedazzle audiences. To a point, I suppose it worked. The audience gasped as our guest held up her finger after a prolonged pizzicato passage in Ravel's "Tzigane,"as if the poor finger had been torn to shreds. But the show turned over-the-top when spoiled intonation and marred rhythms were disguised with foot stomps and head bobs, as if to somehow compensate for defects.

There are a few of us left with respect for artists, such as Hilary Hahn and Yury Bashmet, that are able to turn the attention to the music itself and convey originality rather than display their tics. I hope this current trend of self-absorbed mediocrity and fakery will fade out. Introducing Anna Karkowska!

My Nine Lives

2010-12-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

I have a poignant memory of pianist Leon Fleisher playing and conducting the now defunct Northwest Chamber Orchestra here in Seattle during the 2004/05 season; that was to be our last series. "Higher powers" in the local music scene had ordered its destruction. The demise of the ensemble meant that many of us would need to reinvent our selves.

Yuriy in the second violins raised his hand during a pause in the rehearsal with Fleisher. We were to perform, among other works, "Sheep May Safely Graze" (transcribed for piano by Egon Petri). "I have kvestion," Yury said in his thick, Ukrainian accent, a gold tooth gleaming. Fleisher closed his eyes. "Keep talking. You sound just like my father who came straight off the boat from Odessa." I thought Leon Fleisher was about to cry as he remembered his parents and their humble origins. Fleisher's appearance with NWCO took place about a year after his triumphant return to Carnegie Hall playing a two-handed recital after over three decades.

The orchestra drank up the brief opportunity to work with this legendary artist. Fleisher shared with us the trauma of nearly losing everything on account of his debilitating illness. "If you're experiencing pain while playing," he said. "Speak up. You're not alone. I found this out too late. The most crucial thing is to take precautionary care. Don't try to be stoic like I was." We listened with rapt attention, as Leon Fleisher enlightened us about his focal dystonia, a neurological condition which causes muscular contraction and the curling and twisting of fingers. In Fleisher's case, at the age of thirty-six, just when his career had sky-rocketed, he lost the use of two fingers in his right hand.

Leon Fleisher's memoir, "My Nine Lives: A Memoir of Many Careers in Music" written with the help of co-author, the celebrated music critic for the Washington Post, Anne Midgette, is a beautifully told story which conveys messages of personal transformation through adversity. It is a distillation of wisdom.

Fleisher cannot remember a time without playing the piano. His memoir begins as a child prodigy growing up in San Francisco, the youngest of two boys. Fleisher's mother, a quintessentially doting Jewish mother, wanted her son to become either the first Jewish president of the United States or a great concert pianist. She at least lived to see the latter realized, though while on her deathbed, Fleisher remained in Amsterdam to perform as soloist with the Concertgebouw, a choice he eventually came to regret. "My mother was in many ways not an easy woman. Her vision for me was often constricting. And she certainly had trouble letting go. Even after I moved to Europe, she treated me as her little boy every time I came home."

Every one of his nine lives was preceded by a death which is shared in this memoir with tenderness, candor, and often a light stroke of wit. There was the expulsion from Artur Schnabel's class for laziness after ten years spent with the master; but afterward young Fleisher was jolted into becoming his own teacher. In 1949, after an unsuccessful second concert at Carnegie Hall, Fleisher had been deemed a "has-been" by impresario Arthur Judson. But then, there was the big win at the 1952 Queen Elizabeth Competition in Brussels. And just when his career reached dizzying heights, he lost sensation in two of his right hand fingers. "I was living in a nightmare. I would wake up happy and then remember: You can't play--Ever since I can remember, the most important thing in my life has been playing the piano." A tragic death was yet to occur with the loss of his partnership with George Szell, the music director with "laser beam ears" of Cleveland Orchestra. Over the years the two had become almost inseparable; they shared a certain unspoken bond. Szell was his musical father.

In 1965, Fleisher had been offered to play his beloved Mozart Concerto K. 503 with Cleveland Orchestra on a three month tour of the Soviet Union and Europe. But after a performance of the work at Severance Hall, Szell took him into his office and spoke the dreaded words,"You cannot play." That year was to have been one of the greatest years of his life, the culmination of a career. Fleisher was obsessed by the thought: "What good was it to have reached this point, to have worked so hard, to have so many insights, if there was no way to let anybody know about them?" And he descended into the valley of the shadow.

But many other lives were to begin for Leon Fleisher; that of pedagogue, conductor, arts administrator, and advocate for instrumentalists grappling with psychic and physical wounds. "My Nine Lives" is a book to cherish.

Stendhal's Mozart

2010-11-22T12:09:00.000-08:00

Last week, while playing as an extra for Oregon Symphony's program "Mozart and Shakespeare," I couldn't help but wander into Powell's. The hotel where I stayed, the Mark Spencer, is just a stone's throw from the beloved book store. I was on a mission to find the works of Stendhal, having just been introduced to his "Life of Rossini." This is not only a fascinating but controversial biography of Rossini, but an honest appraisal of the mutilation of Mozart's music as performed by Italian orchestras of that period. Those Italians! To play Mozart meant to play strictly in time, a principle which the lazier musicians referred to as barbaric, for each instrument would have to enter and finish exactly where Mozart had said that it should.

At Powell's, you never know what you might discover. I walked by a placard on the first level which said: I read dead people. How true, I thought. I went upstairs to the Music and Arts section to browse. There I discovered a hardcover book about violinists, opened the pages, and delighted in finding an unsealed envelope with the obituaries of both Mischa Elman and Louis Persinger from The New York Times and The Oregonian, circa 1960's. I bought the book, of course.

Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle)

Downstairs in the Blue Room, I found two magnificent hard cover and illustrated Stendhal novels, "The Red and the Black" and "The Charterhouse of Parma." It would be a cinch for me to spend all the earnings I made from subbing in the symphony in that book store. I remember one time trying to hide a rare edition of "Revolt of the Angels" by Anatole France. I thought Ilkka would be angry at me for spending money on more and more books. They are, after all, falling off my night stand and cluttering each room in the house. But when he saw the beautiful work, with pages not yet cut, Ilkka took out a knife and carefully separated each thick page. "This is how books used to be made in my youth." Indeed, I have learned more about art, music and philosophy from the great French writers, Stendhal, France, and Proust than from any classes or private lessons in conservatory.

While perusing the shelf stocked with Stendhal's works, I stumbled across another title that beckoned, and whispered to me: "Memoirs of an Egotist". I laughed for a moment because I, too, have been writing a memoir. Am I an egotist? I picked it up and read the back cover:
The only things I have passionately loved in life are:
            Cimarosa,
            Mozart
            and Shakespeare.
In Milan, in 1820, I wanted to put these words on my gravestone. Every day I would think of this inscription, firmly believing that I would have no peace of mind except in the grave. I wanted a marble slab in the shape of a playing card.

Well, of course, I had to purchase this on the spot, and take it back to the hotel with me. It was as if Stendhal himself was reminding me how fortunate I was to have been hearing Mozart's "Prague" Symphony that week and playing Elgar's "Falstaff". Edward Elgar was an ardent Shakespearean, and Oregon Symphony's Music Director Carlos Kalmar had recruited actors to link Elgar's composition to the Shakespeare's text that had inspired the music.

Wine was being served at the hotel. I sat down with a glass and listened to my egotist friend:
At the age of ten, my father, who had all the prejudices of religion and aristocracy, vehemently prevented me from studying music. At sixteen, I learnt successively to play the violin, to sing, and to play the clarinet. Only in this way did I manage to produce sounds which gave me pleasure. My music teacher, a kind, good-looking German by the name of Hermann, made me play tender cantilenas. Who knows? Perhaps he knew Mozart? This was in 1797, Mozart had just died.

Later, at the concert, I sneaked upstairs to the balcony of Arlene Schnitzer to hear Mozart's "Prague" Symphony as performed by Oregon Symphony under the direction of Maestro Kalmar. The hall was filled to capacity. Stendhal accompanied me in heart and soul. This was Mozart at its loveliest; each note filled with warmth, sensitivity and precision. The orchestra, demonstrating enviable refinement and good taste, was a pleasure to behold.

The Real Music of Remembrance

2010-11-03T23:07:00.000-07:00

Last evening, Ilkka and I had the pleasure of performing Mozart's Requiem at St. James Cathedral for All Soul's Day. We always look forward to this event, as the beauty of the cathedral pared with Mozart's sublime music offers an opportunity to reflect upon the lives of the deceased in a powerfully spiritual way. It is gratifying to watch the multitude of people as they enter the sanctuary. No matter what age or social strata, all seek refuge and transcendence in Mozart's Mass for the Dead. In his homily, Father Michael Ryan acknowledged Mozart as the greatest preacher, and the Requiem as Celebration.

Prayer of St. Francis

Before the service, Ilkka and I went downstairs to warm up, as the musicians are encouraged to arrive early. One half hour prior to the event, St. James is always packed; many people are left to stand for the entire service. We set our violin cases down on a chair. Ilkka reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his violin, but out fell a prayer card in loving memory of Robert H. Knopp, M.D.—his funeral having been months ago at St. James. We took the unexpected appearance of this card as an affirmation of Bob's presence with us.

Bob Knopp enriched the lives of so many people; it is no wonder that this guest book is filled with heartfelt words of affection, deep respect, and gratitude. Bob listened to people in a special way. I remember the thrill of playing Northwest Chamber Orchestra concerts when he and his wife Judy were in the audience. They treated the players as family and hosted numerous parties and receptions at their elegant home near Lake Washington. The musicians and guest artists had tremendous respect for Bob's accomplishments, as he was an internationally acclaimed research physician at both the University of Washington and Harborview Medical Center. But we also knew that having been a pianist and trombone player, he was a discerning listener; a musician's musician; a person who didn't just listen to notes but got inside the music.

I remember the legendary pianist, Arthur Rubinstein, admitting in an interview that he felt the need to find one person in the audience to play for; one individual among the crowd of listeners who could inspire him to perform his best. I suppose in Rubinstein's case, he meant a gorgeous young female. But I can recall scanning Kane Hall to locate where Bob Knopp was seated, so that I could play for him. Because I felt that he understood and appreciated the subtlest shadings in musical interpretation.

I felt honored when I was asked to teach violin to Eleanor Knopp, Bob and Judy's youngest daughter. I don't mind sharing with my readers how intimidated I initially felt whenever Bob would attend those lessons in my home, for I knew that he was a much sought after and renowned professor. Could I possibly measure up to his stratospheric standard? But I was quickly made to feel at ease the moment I heard his boisterous laugh on my staircase. Teaching and learning for Bob and his family offered a limitless supply of joy; lessons were seen as an opportunity for personal growth and enrichment. He was always engaged at our lessons, taking notes, asking probing questions which, now that I think back, brought my own teaching objectives more into focus. If a lesson went particularly well, Bob would sit down on our piano bench and offer up Bach-Gounod's "Ave Maria" to accompany Eleanor. Although he made fun of his own playing; "I haven't practiced enough," he'd lament; to these eyes and ears, father and daughter played like angels.

Speaking with the Knopps' eldest daughter, Elizabeth, last night after the service, I learned that Bob gave every patient his home and cell phone number, and insisted they were to call any time for help, advice or just reassurance. That's how Bob Knopp was; the rarest of souls. Is it any wonder that one person signed the guest book with these words: He had more compassion in one little finger than most other doctors. And musical fingers, too.

In photo left to right: on top Bob and Judy; bottom Terese and Irv Eisenberg, Eleanor, me and Ilkka

Chopin and Beyond

2010-11-01T12:27:00.000-07:00

In 2001, I was briefly introduced to pianist Byron Janis during an inaugural concert for the Tacoma International Music Festival at the Pantages Theater. Mr. Janis was to have been Artistic Advisor to the festival, but like many other musical organizations in this region, Tacoma International Music Festival died at birth. At the gala and final concert, Mr. Janis performed Mozart's Piano Concerto No.23 in A Major K488 with violinist Erick Friedman on the podium. It was a sad affair; two incomparable artists who were no longer at the peak of their careers, battling for a come-back, or so it appeared. Mr. Friedman was soon to be diagnosed with lung cancer, and would die a few years later at the age of 64. Mr. Janis had been practically crippled by arthritis but he performed through his pain and rendered a charming and elegant Mozart. With the help of his wife, Maria Cooper Janis (daughter of Gary Cooper) has written Chopin and Beyond: My Extraordinary Life in Music and the Paranormal.

In Chopin and Beyond, Mr. Janis tells the story of his extraordinary life in music; his many friendships with renowned artists, writers and celebrities. Most fascinating to me are the accounts of various teachers who influenced his career, from the stern Abraham Litow who slapped young Byron Yanks (his name before being changed) with a ruler whenever he played a wrong note, to the loving couple Rosina and Josef Lhévinne, who impressed upon Janis one of the most valuable lessons of all: there's more than one viable way to approach something. As the Lhévinnes' travel schedule increased, they engaged Adele Marcus to mentor their star performer. Shortly after his studies with Marcus, Janis was accepted by the legendary Vladimir Horowitz. Horowitz would say, "Something is not right. You know, you should go home and find what is the problem and work on it yourself and bring to me next time." The master pianist insisted that his pupil not play for anyone else during his first year of study because his goal was to make Mr. Janis into a "big" pianist. "You are a pianist who could play more in oils, not just watercolors." Encouraging Mr. Janis to exaggerate that bigness Horowitz would say, "Don't worry, Byronchik. You can always subtract but you can't add on."

In Chopin and Beyond, Mr. Janis delves into the frequent experiences that took him beyond the reach of the senses; episodes of psychokinesis, synchronicity, automatic writing, and clairvoyance which became a regular facet of his reality. Admittedly, some of what Mr. Janis shares in Chopin and Beyond recalls pianist Rosemary Brown, the spirit medium who claimed that dead composers dictated new musical works to her. Brown reported that Franz Liszt appeared dressed in a black cassock and controlled her hands a measure at a time. Chopin appeared to her and pushed her fingers down on the keys, and Franz Schubert sang to her.

For Mr. Janis, who has had a lifelong fascination with Chopin, he reveals for the first time some of the paranormal events he has experienced relating to the composer. The most spectacular is an account of a death mask of Chopin "crying" in 1973. Mr. Janis had recently struck up a friendship with the Israeli psychic Uri Geller. After dinner one night, Mr. Geller asked to touch the mask, which had been given to the pianist by the family of Chopin's lover George Sand. "We were standing around holding this mask and in about 15 seconds we noticed a liquid coming out of the eyes," says Mr. Janis. "It was gushing, it was unbelievable. I put my hand on the liquid and said they were tears. I am convinced of one thing, the strongest power in the world is love and I loved Chopin since I was a young man, and that may be what caused this to happen."

For those who are skeptics, acknowledging the impossible is crucial to great playing for Byron Janis. "In performing Chopin it is so important to touch that other world. In playing, sometimes you feel you are being played—that happens to me a lot."

Music is to Byron Janis his life's oxygen. To his audiences and many admirers, there is little doubt he breathes music. As to the paranormal, if you are a nonbeliever, writes Byron Janis, in his new book Chopin and Beyond, I hope I may have persuaded you to say, "Maybe."

In the Name of Progress

2010-10-10T15:51:00.000-07:00

I was rummaging through my hat box the other day and found this photo. I'm at the age (midlife) of trying to connect dots; dots that will remain forever a mystery. I wondered, as I gazed at old photographs and other bits and pieces of memorabilia in my closet, how many changes are made in the name of progress, when really, the outcome might give one pause.

Taking a quick glance at arts organizations throughout the nation, how many behemoth venues have been erected in the name of progress? How many of these can be filled on a regular basis by hard-working, middle class folks, like me? Overly long subscription seasons; is that progress? For whom?

In the case of symphony orchestras, how many executive directors does it take to satisfy one boss? Who is the boss, anyway? How many motivated board members might be required? How many concertmasters? A few, like in European orchestras? How many auditions for that post? Twenty or more?

How many threats does it take before a first chair player might quit on his/her own—in the name of progress? Pink slips? Retaliations? How many services need to be cut, as in rehearsals, to make up for budgetary deficits? Collective bargaining meetings? Doctor's notices for missed rehearsals; how many? Litigation? How much documented evidence? What about my favorite: meetings with Human Resource personnel as the person-behind-the-desk stares blankly and says in a flat voice: You seem emotional.

How many blandishments from the press to recruit deep-pocketed donors? Complimentary tickets to paper the house? Premieres? Performances featuring obscure American compositions? How many school concerts to seemingly increase audience numbers? Programming changes to reduce extra player costs? Personnel managers? Lies as to when you're officially hired, and when you're (oops) not? How much over-time when the program sounds scrappy and ill-rehearsed? How many visits to Prague in order to feel the spirit of Dvořák? How many principal cellists? How many complimentary glasses of wine to lure an audience to a gala opener? How much cleavage? Hair? Am I forgetting anything?

Today I have only questions, no answers. Pop quiz: How many players are using vibrato in this photo?

New Rules

2010-10-04T12:38:00.000-07:00

The financial outlook is grim across the nation for arts organizations. One glimpse at recent headlines for Washington Ballet and Detroit Symphony will serve as a sobering reminder. Citing financial constraints, the Washington Ballet will substitute the canned music for live orchestra, at least for the duration of the 2010/11 season, beginning with the opening production of "Romeo and Juliet" at Kennedy Center Theater, and later, to include "The Nutcracker".

The Detroit Symphony is on Day One of a strike, and as I see it, plunging headlong to its own demise. Detroit, a financially beleaguered city with a population of 800,000 can no longer sustain a "top-tier symphony" (translation: overpaid) with a 52 week season. And the players, refusing to accept a broader job description which would include outreach performances and teaching opportunities in schools without extra pay, demand to be "compensated what they're worth" regardless of Detroit's bleak, economic outlook. What they're worth has been a base salary of $104, 650 with most musicians earning around $120,000, and what they've been offered by management is a pay cut of 30%. As I've stated in a previous post, and without meaning to beat a dead horse over the head, the time is now for classical musicians to recalibrate their methods of survival.

Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra in early 1980s

Rules need to change. Examine, for example, the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra's new strategy. The NJSO has reconfigured themselves as a state-wide group that gives concerts in seven different cities. I'm reminded of the years spent as first violinist for the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, an ensemble that continues to thrive under the leadership of its Music Director, Jeffery Kahane. Back in my days, the orchestra performed in multiple venues in Southern California. (An aside: In the mid-1980's LACO's board realized that the budget was over-strained by the programming of large-scale works, and the hiring of very expensive soloists. The ensemble struggled to stay afloat, but was fortunate to have succeeded in negotiating a contract with L.A.Opera, thus offering its players steady work).

Might the formula of regional concerts by a smaller "classical" orchestra, augmented by extra players when needed, make sense here as well, in the entire Puget Sound area? From this perspective, why not create an ensemble in the style of New Jersey Symphony Orchestra that regularly performs in multiple venues around the region, not just an occasional run-out? After a near-death experience, NJSO has been able to accumulate nearly 80% of the $32 million in capital that is its fund-raising goal. Wouldn't it be more cost effective for, let's say, the communities of Bellevue (with its proposed 2,000 seat concert hall), Everett, Bellingham, Olympia and Tacoma to serve their music hungry public with a top-tier, touring ensemble as well, enabling every city to share ownership?

New Paradigm

2010-09-22T19:52:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the Young Virtuosi Chamber Orchestra from Seattle Conservatory of Music is on the right track. A self-governing group of highly skilled and motivated teen-aged musicians, they select their own programs, choose coaches, and host auditions. I happened to be present at one session and witnessed the process of voting in a new cellist. "Tell us about yourself," said one member of the committee. "How many years have you been studying cello and what school do you attend?" After a brief round of questions, the panel of young musicians voted, and chose to offer the cellist a position. What followed was a vigorous reading of Mendelssohn's Octet.

As I see it, this is the first step in broadening an awareness for future job skills and creating a new paradigm. While orchestras throughout the nation are undergoing a crisis of identity and dealing with economic uncertainty, conservatory students are encouraged to become entrepreneurs, and figure out ways to effectively manage arts organizations. How else to survive in the 21st century with the arts pushed to the periphery?

The Young Virtuosi Chamber Orchestra is learning about proprietorship along with the rudiments of ensemble playing. The musicians might take this valuable experience even farther by designing programs, creating discussion groups, and hosting post-concert forums. They might adventure into public speaking and creative writing as a means to connect with audiences. Economics, as in what makes an ensemble sustainable, should be integrated into the conservatory curriculum. The students might be asked to balance organizational costs with ticket revenue. Since the public sector can no longer be relied upon for regular hand-outs, and funding sources are strained, these youngsters might help to create an effective business model.

That being said, as I follow the news of Detroit Symphony Orchestra, and the impending strike or lock-out by the end of this week, I recognize the tell-tale symptoms of cultural-entitlement mentality. The veteran players are unwilling to accept work-rule changes, such as splintering into smaller groups and participation in community outreach for less compensation, even though their survival depends on it. At a time when the city is in desperate financial straits, supporting a symphony orchestra is obviously not top priority. Musicians who maintain they must be paid what they believe they deserve, regardless of what the rest of Detroit's society has endured by way of depressed economy, are deluding themselves. As the late Ernest Fleischmann, executive leader of the Los Angeles Philharmonic said in his 1987 commencement address to the Cleveland Institute of Music,"The orchestra is dead. Long live the community of musicians." DSO might replace the entitlement attitude with gratitude for having playing jobs. Besides, why would a cut in salary for a musician be any more devastating than for an auto worker?

Parallel Play

2010-09-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

I've always been attracted to intelligent people, or rather, geniuses. As far back as I can recall, I've been drawn to original thinkers, doers, and especially, the "quiet" type. But, I never thought to classify those rare individuals with any so-called disorder. Tim Page, who won a Pulitzer Prize as chief music critic for The Washington Post, was diagnosed at the age of forty-five with Asperger's Syndrome—an autistic disorder characterized by often superior intellectual abilities (such as all encompassing recall and computer-like retention) but also by obsessive behavior, ineffective communication, and social awkwardness. In his memoir, Parallel Play, Page reveals how the diagnosis helped him make sense of the loneliness and uncomfortable personality that marked him for life.

The chronicle of Tim Page's journey with Asperger's is fascinating, as it opens a window to a world that few understand. It is a condition which some consider a disability, but I would argue, a gift. It is speculated that Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton may have had Asperger's as both experienced intense intellectual interests in specific areas. Both scientists had trouble reacting properly in social situations and had difficulty communicating. The syndrome was identified in 1944, by Hans Asperger, a Viennese pediatrician who wrote, "For success in science or art, a dash of autism is essential."

In "Parallel Play," Page recounts his earliest memories as a child simultaneously young and old who sought refuge in music and books, a rebellious teen-ager easily prone to over-stimulation and morbid thoughts. The course of Tim Page's life shifted dramatically while attending a summer at Tanglewood. "Suddenly I had peers who (and sometimes shared) my obsessions, with whom I could discuss pieces I was learning on the piano, the compositions I was trying to write, obscure recordings, the proper way to dot a sixteenth note, and the dream of what Glenn Gould called the purpose of art—a gradual , lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity."

Tim Page concedes that many of the things he's accomplished were not despite his Asperger's syndrome but because of it. His book has provided me with greater insight and sensitivity for those isolated and afflicted by genius. And I take the opening quote of the book (attributed to Philo of Alexandria) to heart:
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.
Words that a music critic should heed.

Sounds From Space

2010-09-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

With arts organizations underway for the beginning of their seasons, and several in the midst of negotiations, not many economic sour notes have been reported in the press as of late. Fall is the season when organizations put on a happy face, and endeavor to bolster their subscriptions by portraying themselves as not just viable, but World Class, at least for as long as employees are paid in parity with others. What happens when salaries are lowered is anybody's guess. Wrong notes, missed entrances, intonation mishaps, less blend?

For those who have been following Detroit Symphony over recent months, the news is pretty grim. The two sides are locked in a bitter labor dispute with management proposing pay cuts of about 30%. Base salaries would shrink from $104,650 to $73,800. That's correct. You read those figures right. And even the mighty Philadelphia Orchestra is battling ways to avert bankruptcy after announcing an eight million dollar operating deficit: "In the coming months, a committee will fashion a new strategic plan for covering everything from what the ensemble plays, to where, for whom, and how often."

Which makes me wonder why everyone's spinning their wheels over a new business model when a solution could be gleaned from this morning's New York Times: Boeing Plans to Fly Tourists Beyond Earth. The flights, which could begin as early as 2015, would most likely launch from Cape Canaveral in Florida to the International Space Station. All it takes is just a bit of forward thinking to shuttle a symphony orchestra into orbit. I admit, with Boeing connections here in Seattle, and a local billionaire cosmonaut who donates millions of dollars to a falling meteorite, this community might have the upper hand. If an orchestra has a vision and a mission, why not ear-mark those campaign dollars for a concert series in space? Granted, it might need to be a chamber orchestra at first, or smaller crew to fit into the International Space Station. Naturally, the performances would need to be transmitted back to Earth in both audio and video.

Of course, nothing prevents überwealthy donors from constructing an orbiting concert hall. Launch those musicians, please, but warning: due to the necessary low air pressure, a conductor full of hot air might burst. What could be more ideal than performing "The Planets" on a space adventure? There's plenty of space music available already. How about commissioning a new work entitled "Symphony for the Planet of Apes?"

illustration from wired.com

Dylana Jenson

2010-08-31T22:01:00.000-07:00

Dylana Jenson's new release of the Shostakovich and Barber Violin Concertos has been entered for a Grammy nomination. I've been inspired by Dylana Jenson's violin playing since the early 70's, as a child growing up in the suburbs of Boston, where I first began music studies. Dylana had such reknown as a child prodigy, that sometimes after my own concerts, audience members would rush to congratulate me, and say how much they enjoyed my appearances on "The Tonight Show". Finally, it became so awkward and uncomfortable for me to clarify that a). The young violinist was not me but another child violinist, Dylana Jenson, and b). Her career had sky-rocketed, and I was still working my way up. I left well enough alone. We were both young female violinists with dark hair and brown eyes. I accepted any praise and acknowledgement meant for her.

Our paths crossed briefly in the mid-70's, when I relocated for studies with Jascha Heifetz in Los Angeles. My parents, determined to have me meet this young lady at last, telephoned her family in Sherman Oaks, and they invited us for a visit. What a warm reception we were granted by the entire family, I'll never forget. But, as I was urged to take out my violin, and prove my worth, I was gripped by stage fright. I cannot recall what I served up that evening. I do remember that Dylana opened her violin case and nonchalantly played for us, unaware of the pressure cooker scenario. The music seemed to pour from her soul right into her fingers. I was envious, but at the same time, inspired.

Years later our paths met again. But this time, I was a newly elected section player of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, and she was the star soloist performing Samuel Barber's Violin Concerto. The orchestra admired her playing, so expressive and masterful. In those days I had been borrowing a Carl Becker violin, but was ordered to return the loaned instrument after being hired by LACO. Fair enough. But it never occurred to me that Dylana Jenson had to return the 1743 Guarnerius del Gesu (that was on loan to her by the same collector) for the reason that she got married, at age twenty-one to conductor, David Lockington. Dylana tells her story here in a captivating interview on violinist.com with Laurie Niles.

I love this recent release of the Shostakovich and Barber Violin Concertos. Jenson displays her keen sense of dramatic intensity and fiery command in both concertos with London Symphony Orchestra conducted by David Lockington. She is an impassioned violinist who displays rich, tonal beauty and shows remarkable instinct for stylistic nuance. The haunting, pervasive anguish in Shostakovich's music paired with the lyrical and velvety Barber (with its hair-raising finale) demonstrate the triumph of a one-of-a-kind violinist, the owner of a signature sound and breathtakingly flawless technique. Dylana Jenson has my vote.

Celebration of Life for George Shangrow

2010-08-22T22:08:00.001-07:00

Today I attended the Celebration of Life service for George Shangrow, Seattle's musical dynamo, killed in a car accident on July, 31, 2010 at the age of 59. The turnout at University Christian Church was staggering. The church was filled to capacity. An over flow of mourners crowded all the way upstairs to the balcony—some were left to stand for the duration. With his immense talent, love and enthusiasm for music, the ability to communicate with audiences of all ages from diverse backgrounds, George Shangrow brought light to the hearts of many.

Now, at the age of 51, I have become increasingly aware of the finiteness of life. Every day is precious, for we never know when it will be our last. With each death or parting, a deeper meaning attaches itself to life; a new revelation comes into focus. What struck me about George, as I listened to the shared musical experiences and remembrances, was how steadfast and loyal he was as a friend and colleague.

I'll always remember him as a most gracious host on his radio show, KING-FM's Live By George. Lou Magor, a pianist and friend, shared that with his wealth of knowledge, expertise, and quick intellect, George could easily have upstaged, or stolen the spotlight from any guest on his show. But he never did. I remember feeling jittery for my first appearances with him on the radio. As a young performer, I had been encouraged to do less talking and more playing. One of my teachers, Heifetz in particular, would become impatient with any explanation that resembled a dissertation, so I hesitated to speak about music in public. But with George, my fears were groundless. I merely had to give him that certain look in the studio, a look which signaled, let's not go there—and he deftly switched the topic with just the right dose of humor.

He had an almost childlike, naive trust in others. Betrayal from a colleague hit him hard and was unfathomable. While former KING-FM radio host, Tom Dahlstrom, shared reflections about the sixteen years he enjoyed as a co-worker with George at the station, he mentioned the two times that he had detected a quiver in George Shangrow's voice. Fearless in front of the microphone, and also in front of audiences in the concert hall, his was the voice of calm. There was a quiver, though, as George recounted the horrors at Mauthausen, the notorious Nazi punishment camp, which he visited on more than one occasion. He sought to find answers to the atrocities, the senseless deaths, but found there were no answers, only more questions. George Shangrow, a man who lived and breathed joy in music, could not wrap his head around mankind's destructive urge and capacity to wipe away countless, innocent lives. It was inconceivable that prisoners at Mauthausen Concentration Camp had been exterminated with Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" playing in the background.

There was a quiver in George's voice when he received messages at KING-FM, through various e-mails, that his job was being terminated; he warned his friend and colleague Tom Dahlstrom of an impending, similar fate. As I listened to flautist Jeff Cohan, pianists Robert Kechley, Mark Salmon, and George Fiore perform at the memorial service, I realized that George valued his friendships and the people he worked with above all else; he wouldn't betray a colleague, although another person with the same initials might have no problem doing so.

The proof of George Shangrow's legacy was there today at the memorial service, and is all around us. George Shangrow's devotion to music lives on, through Orchestra Seattle and Orchestra Seattle Chamber Singers, through the many live interviews and programs that he hosted, through his beautiful and talented daughter, cellist Daisy Shangrow, and the many inspired students from his classes at Seattle Conservatory. He enriched countless others by sharing classical music so freely with all, while making it accessible, and with the talent for inclusion rather than exclusion.

His friends quipped that George Shangrow loathed deadlines. Punctuality was not, well, his strong point even for a show live on the air. But with a trace of humor that echoed George, to the point that I could almost hear his voice:
He was early for once—but to his own funeral.

George Shangrow

2010-08-02T12:40:00.000-07:00

Like many others, I learned of the tragic death of Orchestra Seattle and Seattle Chamber Singers music director, George Shangrow, through an internet discussion on Facebook. Reading the horrible news about one of Seattle's most gifted, but least valued artists, killed at the age of 59 is shocking and saddening, to say the least. Shangrow, former host of "Live by George" for KING-FM, was en route to deliver a pre-concert lecture on American classical music for the Methow Valley Chamber Music Festival, when a teenager lost control of his vehicle on Highway 20, due to a thundering rainstorm, and swerved across the center line which resulted in a head-on collision. The teen driver received injuries to his ankle and collar-bone; Shangrow was pronounced dead on the scene. His family was notified after the news hit the media.

I had the pleasure of working with George Shangrow on many occasions, both as a frequent guest on "Live by George," and as soloist and chamber music partner with Northwest Chamber Orchestra and Orchestra Seattle. George was such a great musician and intuitive accompanist that when I performed the Beethoven Violin Concerto with Orchestra Seattle in 2003, I sensed that we were on the same wave-length. And I had drawn a similar conclusion when we performed J.S.Bach's "Concerto in d minor" with the now defunct Northwest Chamber Orchestra, as well as a complete program devoted to the Bach family at Volunteer Park.

George Shangrow loved, and deserved to work with professional orchestras in this community, but he was given precious few opportunities around here for some dubious reason. I remember George telling me, after directing NWCO, that to conduct a professional ensemble was like driving a fine automobile. Indeed, I knew what he meant.

About a month ago, I was returning home from a day in Portland with my daughters Anna and Sarah. We were desperate for music, as my Eurovan is lacking a CD player, and the antennae is broken, which means, no radio either. Anna reached into a long forgotten pile of cassettes, and fed a mystery tape into the player. The charismatic and gracious voice of George Shangrow introducing pianist Dianne Chilgren and me as guests on his show to perform "Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso" brought back a host of memories. I was introduced as concertmaster for this and that, which I am no longer, and as artistic director for a series which has been long gone as the orchestra is now dead, by a multi-talented, extraordinary radio host that was shamelessly ousted by KING-FM. I switched off the radio station from that day on. The arts community had, once again, tried to silence a Seattle musical treasure who had brought classical music into so many households, and made it accessible for all.

George, you will be forever missed. Thank you for sharing your love and immense musical talent with all of us.

Too much paperwork or politics?

2010-07-11T15:14:00.000-07:00

My dear husband, Ilkka, sifted through this morning's Sunday edition of the New York Times, and, while I was still asleep, tossed an ad for Seattle Opera's summer production of "Tristan und Isolde" into the recycling bin. I discovered the ad in the late morning, as I was searching for some missing paperwork. You know how it is, when you wish to find one thing, you stumble upon another.

When I chanced upon Seattle Opera's flyer, I felt the pangs of grief and torment that "psychological warfare" produces for, as it has been pointed out by former colleagues, I have been treated as collateral damage. My husband was Seattle Opera's concertmaster for over twenty years from 1984 until 2004, and I was a regular substitute first violinist during that time. After the illegal termination of employment of his concertmaster position by the Seattle Symphony, which came to a resolution through mediation, we were both assured that our livelihoods would not be compromised or imperiled, and that Ilkka and I would enjoy a continued working relationship with Seattle Opera.

In May of 2004, an e-mail from Mr. Jenkins. (Note that he is referring to the sudden termination of Ilkka's SSO contract):

Dear Ilkka,
----]I am shocked at your message. No one at the opera had any idea of this at all.
We do have a little bit of time before anything will happen in this area. We are in some ways tied to the Symphony and the players. On the other hand I am certainly happy with your work and very appreciative of the dedication you have always shown to Seattle Opera. We have also benefited not only from your leadership but mostly your superb playing, which is technically excellent and adapted to the different styles of whatever opera we perform.
Know that you have my trust and confidence. I will do some work on this and find out what I can. I so appreciate all that you have done, do and will do for the Opera.
Best,
Speight.

And here, a heartfelt letter which I wrote and sent to Mr. Jenkins in 2008. Unfortunately, Mr. Jenkins did not have the decency or courtesy to respond. Perhaps seeing this letter on my blog will jog his memory.

Dear Speight,
I am aware that you were placed in a difficult position regarding Ilkka's contract back in 2004, and it disturbed us both greatly. The Seattle Symphony and Gerard Schwarz treated my husband with complete disregard, as they deprived him of his career and livelihood without any warning or articulated basis. As you can imagine, these actions resulted in financial hardship and emotional duress to our family. Though his case was eventually resolved through mediation, a signed agreement stipulates that Seattle Symphony, Seattle Opera and their leadership refrain from all discriminatory behavior against Ilkka and me.
As you may recall, I was consistently placed on the hiring list for both Seattle Symphony and Seattle Opera in the first violin section, as a substitute, for as long as Ilkka served as concertmaster. I was regularly hired during summer opera productions. As of 2005, I have not received information with regard to orchestra vacancies, and have not been offered any extra work by Symphony or Opera.
---We understand that during the year Seattle Opera is bound by an arrangement with SSO. However, the Opera summer production is a separate entity. I'm enclosing an exchange of e-mails between you and Ilkka dating back to 2004, where you praise his work, and assure him that he will work for you in the future---
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Marjorie Kransberg-Talvi

In summary, Seattle Opera is an organization that continues to fight for its survival. I believe it's crucial for donors—past, present and future—to learn about the internal politics.

photo of Speight Jenkins in his office © Rozarii Lynch

Bonne chance, Maestro Morlot

2010-06-30T12:26:00.000-07:00

Like many others in town, I learned of Ludovic Morlot's appointment as Music Director Designate of Seattle Symphony beginning this fall through Daniel J. Wakin's feature article in The New York Times. I thought Mr. Wakin was clever to refer back to the local ensemble's enduring era of turbulence and upheaval during the quarter of a century reign under Gerard Schwarz. Mr. Morlot will need to rehabilitate and revitalize a group of disaffected musicians, that's for sure, and jolt the community out of its ennui.

Although I'm unfamiliar with this young French conductor, and have not yet attended a performance of his with Seattle Symphony as yet, I certainly hope he will prove to be just what this local community has long awaited. Born in Lyons, France, 36-year-old Mr. Morlot studied violin at the University of Montreal and conducting at the Royal Academy of Music in London. He is sought after as a guest conductor, having appeared with Chicago Symphony, Boston Symphony and New York Philharmonic, among a long list of others. Morlot has been recognized as a "leader with a clear beat and precise ear" by New Yorker critic Alex Ross, acclaimed author of the book and blog "The Rest is Noise." Speaking as a violinist, I can appreciate a conductor who has intrinsic knowledge of string playing; articulations and phrasing might, for a change, become more natural and less forced. Wouldn't it be wonderful if an era of dot dash could be replaced with inspired phrasing, natural musicality, and originality?

Of course, the Seattle Symphony, like many other American arts organizations, has a strong desire to establish more of an international presence. A European conductor is often perceived as a catalyst for growth and opportunities abroad, such as touring. But these are troubled economic times, with ticket revenue and corporate donations down, as well as shrunken endowments. Boardrooms tend to be petri dishes for bad behavior. Ludovic Morlot has never had an orchestra of his own thus far, therefore, he will need to prove himself in this local community by cultivating his own pool of followers and donors. Morlot and his family will relocate to Seattle; a local presence might be helpful, although I think it's fair to surmise that every honeymoon period is short-lived, and Seattle has a tradition of dragging its feet when it comes to new leadership.

Music directors of American orchestras must dedicate an inordinate amount of time to fund-raising efforts. And, during this period of slow economic recovery, no matter what Michael Kaiser, the impassioned President of the Kennedy Center and arts organization guru touts in terms of turnaround technique, Morlot is taking the helm of Seattle Symphony at one of the most daunting episodes in recent history. I wish Ludovic Morlot and my colleagues bonne chance. Time is of the essence for a turn around. If there's a slush fund out there for lame-duck conductors, now might be the time to dip into it.

photo of Ludovic Morlot by Maike Schulz 2006

Elegy

2010-06-19T19:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it takes a reminder for me to recognize my former incarnation as a concert violinist. When I stumbled across this YouTube video, I couldn't believe my ears, for I had forgotten my former self. I'm grateful to the individual who posted the Dohnanyi "Elegy" from the Piano Quintet recorded at the late Waterloo Music Festival in Princeton, New Jersey. My colleagues in this performance were violinist, Leonid Keylin, violist Jean Dane, cellist Eric Bartlett, and pianist David Montgomery.

It is really unfortunate when one person of influence misuses his power to squelch the voices of talented individuals, and tinkers with their livelihoods. There is nothing new to the art of blacklisting. And here, in Seattle, I'm sorry to say, the art form is alive and well. For those colleagues and friends who have reached out to share memories of past events and performances with me, I'm truly grateful. I'll be honest, there have been times when I have felt that it was all for nothing; the hours of practice, the dedication to perfection; the cloistered life. And I have experienced what it feels like to become disoriented from a loss of identity. But when I listen to Elegy, and hear the beauty of Dohnanyi's music, my spirits soar. Hope is rekindled; I love music; this love transcends all else.

My losses in performance opportunities have inspired me to compose a memoir related to my wonderful and rich life as a violinist. I have turned my creative energies into a wholly different art form. Although music is my first passion, I continue to discover the beauty and power of words. It never ceases to amaze me what the human spirit is capable of in the face of adversity. One can find laughter in sorrow.

I reach out to those of you who have met an untimely career death, or unexpected divorce from a world or role that you adored. It is my fervent desire that in the near future, those deserving souls who have been shunned and banished from the arts arena, will enjoy a right of return.

Rx for Violinists

2010-06-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

With summer approaching, and as I reflect back on experiences in my youth, I remember how much of a challenge it was to adapt to the different styles and rigor of learning. As I explained to a lovely adult student last evening, who is making astonishing progress due to her quick analytical skills, there is not one single method, or cure-all that works for everyone, especially when it comes to playing the violin. The best training I received, over the course of my extensive years of study, was the encouragement to make discoveries and experiment on my own.

I recall my first summer at Meadowmount School of Music, "a boot camp for budding virtuosos" and admit that at the age of eleven, I didn't have the slightest clue how to practice. On my music stand was the thick book of Kreutzer Etudes, a crucial but rather dry book. Years later, during studies in the Heifetz Masterclass, the Kreutzer book would be used as a Physician's Desk Reference. For bow tremor, etude number one might be helpful, but in small dosages. A string crossing disturbance could be aided by number thirteen. Shifting ailments were treated by a strong dose of eleven and twelve. If the fourth finger experienced fatigue or weakness during trills, the eighteenth etude, practiced at regular intervals, would boost endurance and agility. And so on.

Recently, I have been introduced to another excellent resource for the intermediate to advanced learner. It is 12 Etude-Caprices in the Styles of the Great Composers by Meadowmount violinist and faculty member, Amy Barlowe. What I enjoy most about this collection, is that it reinforces practice tools for helping students learn and discover on their own. It is a wonderful complement to the Kreutzer because it doesn't taste like medicine but offers strong efficacy. Each etude-caprice livens the imagination with a focus on the stylistic differences between great composers, such as Sturm and Drang influence in Beethoven, changing meters in Ravel, and characteristics of Slovak folk music in Bartok. Ms. Barlowe includes concise measure for measure technical and musical practice guides, including improving intonation through the "stop bow" method and double-stop strategies.

There are wonderful illustrations and biographies about each composer, as well as chronological correlations with artists, writers, and historic events which encourages the student to contextualize musical styles. Most important, 12 Etude-Caprices in the Styles of the Great Composers is a curative for anyone who needs guidance during practice. I hope Ms. Barlowe might consider adding a piano accompaniment, or optional second violin, so that these etude-caprices can be included in the recital literature.

Finnish Goddess of the Violin

2010-05-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

It's not everyday that I load up my Eurovan and head off to Portland, Oregon to hear a concert. But when I learned that the remarkable Finnish violinist, Elina Vähälä was to perform Benjamin Britten's Violin Concerto with Oregon Symphony, I knew to expect an unforgettable musical experience. I haven't been down to Portland for an Oregon Symphony concert since the era of conductor James DePreist, who left an indelible imprint on the orchestra and community.

With two of Ilkka's accomplished students, Rose McIntosh and Alyssa Fridenmaker, I had wonderful company for the three hour trek. We had an appointment for Rose to meet and play for Elina in the afternoon, to discuss a possible enrollment for the Hochschule fur Musik in Detmold, Germany, where she is currently professor of violin. The meeting turned out to be an invaluable lesson spent with Elina, as she shared insight into the concepts of synchronization between the left and right hands of a violinist, and the importance of clarity, articulation, and understanding of each note, particularly in its role and relation within the context of a phrase. As I sat and listened to the exchange between Elina Vähälä and Rose McIntosh, I couldn't help but wish for the Oregon Symphony to present her in a masterclass for young professionals in the near future. This was traditional, old-school teaching and playing at its best, but with a fresh twist, as described by Alyssa Fridenmaker. We left the conference room eager to hear Elina's performance of Benjamin Britten's Violin Concerto—a first time hearing for all of us.

After browsing at Powell's Book Store (of course!) and dinner at a Thai Restaurant, we returned to the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall. I had almost forgotten how much charm this original movie palace has with its ornate Italian Rococo design. The "Schnitz" was packed with an appreciative and enthusiastic audience.

A heart-warming welcome by Oregon Symphony's executive director Elaine Calder, with news of successful fund-raising for the orchestra to make its way to Carnegie Hall in 2011, was followed by an informative and engaging introduction to the rarely performed Britten Violin Concerto by Maestro Carlos Kalmar. The program began with a short work, Magnus Lindberg's "Purcell Variation". This piece felt like a mere curtain raiser, or teaser, to usher in the evening's soloist, Elina Vähälä.

Benjamin Britten, whose political views were very much of the socialist, pacifist, Left of the 1930's, wrote his concerto during 1938/39 as a requiem for the fallen soldiers of the Spanish Civil War, as well as a foreshadowing of World War II. It offers the violinist a sustained, dream-like main theme followed by a starkly contrasting, military quasi-cadenza. The tympani echoes the artillery of the military section. In a gypsy trio section, the intensive solo part is laden with furious, demanding passage work. The concerto concludes with a haunting and deeply spiritual lament. Britten invites the listener to hear and question the suffering of mankind by conveying an almost unspeakable sense of loss with his music. Elina Vähälä, with her incomparable command of the instrument, held the audience spellbound from the first note to the last. Her sound is expansive, varied and rich; she is a fearless violinist. The Oregon Symphony, under Kalmar's direction, accompanied the concerto with sensitivity and emotionalism.

Over the years, I've heard Elina Vähälä perform an assortment of solo repertoire, from Vivaldi to Shnittke, Mozart to Curtis-Curtis Smith, and frequently with her pianist/conductor husband, Ralf Gothóni. Every time I leave the concert hall with a similar impression, that being as if each composer wrote with her in mind.

The Art of Possibility

2010-05-23T22:36:00.000-07:00

There are many inspiring and meaningful messages from the best-selling book "The Art of Possibility" by Benjamin and Rosamund Zander. This book is a perfect antidote for helping one to survive in an overly competitive world. What's more, Benjamin Zander is Music Director for the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra. His techniques for experiencing a more purposeful and fulfilled life are gleaned from the vantage point of the conductor's podium. During his classes at the New England Conservatory, Mr. Zander encourages his students to place themselves in the future, and discuss their accomplishments in the past tense. This enables each student to feel as if they have mastered their goals and overcome fears. He has trained his students to lift their arms in the air, smile, and say "How fascinating!" after making mistakes. Mr. Zander teaches the art of risk-taking through music.

But what I especially love in "The Art of Possibility" is the game called "I Am a Contribution." In this game, you wake up each day and bask in the notion that you are a gift to others.It is a discipline of the spirit.

Today, as I attended the Seattle Philharmonic Orchestra's final performance of the season "The Brotherhood of Peoples" at Meany Hall, I was struck by the energy and vitality that this wonderful group displays under the leadership of Maestro Adam Stern, and the spirit of contribution by each member of the orchestra. To a near capacity house, the concert began with Elgar's "Introduction and Allegro", a most challenging work for strings. The Elgar offered the principal strings ample solo opportunities as a string quartet, and they rose to the occasion. Next on the program was the Concertino for Flute and Orchestra by Otar Gordeli. Simon Berry, the 2009 Bushell Concerto Competition Winner and senior at Roosevelt High School, performed this jazz-infused work with complete mastery and poise. Bartok's "Dance Suite" rounded out the first half with peasant melodies from Magyar and Romanian folk traditions and hints of Arabic styling.

The program concluded with Beethoven's Second Symphony. One could quibble about technical imperfections. In today's world, mainly through the miracles of technology, we've grown accustomed to an almost sterile, antiseptic performance manner where, to quote Zander, "the voice of the soul is literally interrupted." How joyful it was for me to hear music played with such warmth and expressiveness; the art of possibility at its best.

For Peanuts, You Get Monkeys

2010-05-22T10:42:00.000-07:00

I'll admit, when I read this article about Pasadena Symphony's financial woes, and Jorge Mester's refusal to take a pay cut for his salary of about $235,000 for roughly five concerts a year, I was taken aback by former board member, Jerry Kohl's comment: "They can find someone cheaper, but not somebody world-class like Mester. For peanuts, you get monkeys."

What a pitiful statement exposing a false mindset, especially in this country of ours. Today, when it comes to conductors and musicians, there's an embarrassment of riches, and short supply of opportunities. As I've said before, there are crops of talented artists going to waste here with employment opportunities diminishing. But this conviction, that only by offering an exorbitant salary to a conductor will an orchestra be transformed, as if by a Messiah, really grates on my nerves. I've worked with a number of talented musicians who are less well-known but stellar. One such young conductor who comes to mind is Darko Butorac, music director of Missoula Symphony Orchestra. His recent performances as guest conductor with Rainier Symphony and the Northwest Mahler Festival brought musicians practically to their knees, pleading for more opportunities to work with him. The level of intensity and inspiration Butorac drew from players was proof that skill level must not necessarily be equated with the all mighty pay check; fresh talent must be given a chance.

Which brings me back to this peanuts and monkeys philosophy. By this time, my small circle of readers know how much I love story-telling. Well, here's one. It appears to be teacher shopping time for many youngsters in Seattle. I've had a number of calls and e-mails from prospective violin students. Being a parent myself, and knowing that many families are struggling with finances, I keep my tuition to a rate that offers peace of mind, and let it be stated here, that I do not accept commissions for the sales of violins, as so many others in this town make a habit of doing. In other words, I can rest at night without feeling that I'm gouging students and their parents, as many colleges do when they raise their rates to appear more prestigious, while basically admitting anyone who can cough up the cash.

Perception of teaching ability is often mistakenly equated with tuition fee. A non-musician father, while accompanying his daughter for an introductory lesson recently, asked me after the lesson for the amount owed. I stated my hourly rate. He looked at me dubiously. "That's all you charge? But, I thought you quoted a higher fee. Oh, I guess that was someone else—" I knew right then and there that his young daughter would be studying elsewhere, at a pricier studio, with one who is not lacking for greed, but perhaps for dedication and expertise.

After receiving a letter of rejection a few days after the lesson, I scratched behind the ears, climbed to the kitchen, and luckily, found a bag of peanuts.

School for Scandals

2010-05-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

"How did you get to be so creative?" asks my husband after reading the first installments of Frantic.

Here's my secret: I learned from the best of them. We had quite an education thirty years ago as members of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra. Not only was there a vast selection of repertoire to be played, everything from Mozart to Lazarof, Bach to Bill Conti, but a rich supply of characters to make life interesting. Cupid slung her arrow at us, and we caused quite a stir. Our being together was a no-no and nobody expected us to last. But look at us now, thirty years later—

My husband and I take a stroll down memory lane.

The LACO was a 35-40 piece ensemble which played together on the average of one or two weeks out of the month. We performed regularly at Ambassador College in Pasadena, but also on campus at UCLA, and Claremont College. The orchestra gave run-outs in Palm Springs, El Cajon and Santa Barbara.The bus rides were especially memorable, as they afforded an opportunity for adolescent behavior.

The majority of players were comprised of many of LA's top studio musicians, including concertmaster Paul Shure, and his wife from Seattle, Bonnie Jean Douglas. After being hired at the age of 19, I sat last chair second violins, but was soon offered deliverance into the firsts, and promoted as soloist to appear with oboist Allan Vogel in J.S. Bach's Double Concerto. In those days, I played on a Carl Becker violin that caused grumblings from the first desk players; the violin sounded like a trumpet, and caused my playing to stick out rather than blend. Mean glares from those around me induced me to tears. Now I can laugh; this is memoir material.

There was a certain charm in being part of such a small musical family. Everyone knew everyone's business, and there was nothing more tempting and delicious than to help stir the pot. When one violinist claimed that her head was expanding in size due to a medical condition, we giggled in the bus, while making secret bets whether or not her head might explode. It was our great fortune that we had sympathetic bus drivers. They'd allow the musicians to smoke weed in the back, and make frequent pit stops for beer. And, of course, there were liaisons; romantic interludes. I was so naive back then. I thought the whole concept of wife-swapping began in LACO. Remember the time we went on the 1980 Winter Olympics tour to Lake Placid and New York City?

The conductor, a ladies man, seemed like a decent guy back then. But then, appearances can be deceiving. Hormones fired up those concerts all right, and it was truly a school for scandals.

In this photo in 1980 Margaret Moore, Gerard Schwarz, me and Jennifer (Woodward) Munday

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T15:56:00.000-07:00

It's been interesting to check in with a few of my characters for Frantic. Since I've lost touch with a number of colleagues from the East Coast and Los Angeles over the years, we've had some catching up to do. "What happened to you?" "Where have you been?" "Were you disappeared?" "But Schwarz is gone now, right?" And I remind my interrogators that 2011 is just around the corner. When the curtain lowers after the final act in a year, hopefully the curtain will raise to a new scene. But in the meantime, I try to answer the what, where and why questions with tact and good humor. But, in reality, I know that none of my characters have had their careers turned upside down.

It is not the end of the world to be discriminated against, though, because one has the potential to rediscover oneself. The ability to transform obstacles into opportunities might be empowering, even exhilarating. At least they are for me.

I'm ever so fortunate to be married to a person who is not easily intimidated. I believe a man displays inner security when he surrounds himself with strong, determined women. Now, in my fifties, I have observed that many males prefer the docile, demure type. That's not the case around our house, and for that, I'm grateful. Our daughters, Anna and Sarah, have been encouraged to think and speak for themselves. They are not confined to the boxes of their peers, and I'm proud of them.

Speaking of powerful women, I enjoyed reading the Chicago Tribune's recent article "How Deborah Rutter reeled in a classical music superstar" about her sealing the deal for Chicago Symphony with Riccardo Muti. Back in the early 80's when I played as an extra for Los Angeles Philharmonic, I remember Deborah Rutter alongside Ernest Fleischmann. He had spotted her uncanny ability and talent for leadership already back then, and took her under his wing. She went on to become executive director of Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra.

Of course, Deborah (Card) Rutter is remembered and praised for her transformational abilities. A step in the ladder to her dizzying success in orchestra leadership was her stint as executive director of Seattle Symphony from 1992. It was then that the local band grew by leaps and bounds. She helped to revitalize the downtown arts scene with the building of Benaroya Hall in 1998. It might be food for thought that during the 25 plus years of Schwarz leadership, the Seattle Symphony has gone through, what, around ten executive directors? As for Rutter's comparison of Seattle to Chicago: "The air is a lot thinner up here, performing at this absolute pinnacle, which is really exciting because you have fantastic people come here, and you expect fantastic people to come here."

Muti says of Deborah Rutter: "The first important thing about Deborah is that she loves music. She's a woman of great personality, and at the same time, can be strong, and after one second, also charming. She can be deep, and at the same time have a great sense of humor that is very important in life."

All right. I'll make a toast: Here's to Mother's Day, and to all those women who refuse to be mice to men.

Evolving Icon

2010-05-04T13:17:00.000-07:00

As I search for lost time in Frantic: the Memoir, I'm brought back to the years as a youngster growing up in the Boston area in the 60s and 70s. A highlight for me were Sunday afternoon concerts at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and of course, evening performances of the Boston Symphony and Boston Pops at Symphony Hall. It was through those experiences that I came to love music. The Pops reached out to all age groups, and made any performance an event not to be missed. To read how the Pops in its 125th season, is facing a decline in ticket sales, and looking for a way to evolve, as are the Cincinnati and Pittsburgh Symphony Pops, sadly reflects the current issues facing all arts organizations today.

Mark Volpe, managing director who oversees the Pops, Boston Symphony Orchestra, and Tanglewood, blames the struggles largely on the economy. But there are reasons beyond the economy for the decline. In the golden era of the Pops there was no Internet or cable TV to compete with. The orchestra could expect a core audience, no matter who was headlining the show. When the organization recently added "Pops on the Edge" a rock-themed programming, which brought rockers My Morning Jacket, Cowboy Junkies, and Guster, they alienated the older crowd. It's like damned if you do, and damned if you don't.
"This is not your grandmother's Boston Pops," says Tony Beadle, who managed the organization from 1999-2006.

When I grew up, Arthur Fiedler was the legendary conductor of the Boston Pops. He turned the orchestra into the most popular symphony in the world, and advertised himself as a people's maestro. The Pops barely marketed but had an automatic audience, always. Arthur Fiedler turned another of his dreams into reality when he created open-air summer symphony concerts, free to the public, known as the Esplanade Concerts.

It's interesting and scary to be a classical artist of this time period, knowing that even the lighter concert series are suffering from lack of audience support and interest. Many of my colleagues seem distressed at the thought of their own children pursuing music as a career. What does the future hold? Will ticket sales go forward when the economy rebounds? And how should organizations market to the younger crowd while retaining older subsribers? The answers to these questions are anybody's guess.

I think some of the most prophetic words were spoken in 1974 by Harry Ellis Dickson, longtime associate conductor of the Boston Pops, in his revised book, "Gentlemen, More Dolce Please!" (Incidentally, Dickson plays a prominent role in my memoir, Frantic. I well remember how he was revered in the community for his wit and candor). As I leaf through Harry Ellis Dickson's books for second and third readings, I find them relevant for today:

"By the year 2000 all of us will probably have become so sophisticated and so saturated with music that all emotion will have been drained out of our systems. Concert-going will be an exercise in brain-function, nothing more. Perhaps it will afford a kind of satisfaction we don't quite understand today, but I'm glad I won't be around to "enjoy" it...
In the future we will continue to hurl invective at everything new and unfamiliar as we have done since before Beethoven's time. The good will remain, in whatever form, and the bad will be discarded in spite of ourselves."

Summer Capricorn

2010-04-27T22:37:00.000-07:00

A fringe benefit to facing the unpredictability of life in classical music, due to the never-ending financial struggles and turmoil, is that I have time to catch up on my reading. The books I read are relevant for today, and I believe, years to come, as is the case with "Summer Capricorn".

Terry Row's first novel, "Summer Capricorn" is about Adam Nicholas, an acclaimed, professional oboist who has abandoned the uncertainty of the classical music profession in favor of a "real" job in computers. He desires a regular life with reliable hours. His choice is ill-timed, however. He embarks on his newly chosen career just as the recession hits Silicon Valley. Adam Nicholas, now desperate with the potential loss of unemployment benefits, must swallow his pride, and find a job—any job, to stay afloat.

"Summer Capricorn" is a captivating read on many levels. As I'm personally familiar with the author's stellar musicianship (we were both members of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra during the early eighties), I can relate to the frustration his protagonist shares as a free-lancer. The hours are erratic; the pace is abnormal; job security is job insecurity. When others work, we musicians play. But it is a common misconception that musicians' lives are play and not work. The truth is, that classical artists are so highly specialized that it is not uncommon for them to lose touch with the outside world. As Adam Nicholas admits: "I thought I was only good at one thing, playing music. I felt like a failure, an empty shell, when it came to the rest of my life. I wanted to see if I could do something else, anything else, and do it well."

What transpires in this marvelous tale are unexpected twists and turns as Adam opens himself up to new experiences and potentialities which are far outside of his comfort zone. While his desired career as a computer programmer is in limbo, due to the economic downturn, he has rolled up his sleeves and toiled in the land, as well as reached out to those in crisis. Adam is transformed by these experiences and renewed by a sense of awe and purpose. The world with all its mere "coincidences" takes on fresh meaning. He is awakened to different aspects of himself, as well as hidden abilities and talents. Adam beholds the Universe, with all its wonder, as if for the first time, and Life begins.

Close Encounters

2010-04-19T13:47:00.000-07:00

With the weather turning delicious, I've been enjoying the outdoors. About a month ago, we had unseasonably warm temperatures for Seattle. My daughter Sarah and I decided to head for Green Lake. She needed to ease back into running, after a mild knee injury, and I felt determined to strap on my roller blades. It'd been years since I last rolled around the lake. I had to start slow—really slow, but after about 15 minutes, off I went.

You never know who you might bump into at Green Lake, in both the figurative and literal sense. It's a popular outdoor destination: family and pet friendly, and gorgeous. I remember once visiting the lake resort of Trakai in Lithuania, about 20 km outside of Vilnius, and thinking that Seattle's Green Lake is comparable in terms of scenic beauty. Although lacking the medieval stone castle of Trakai, which dates back to the 14th century, a historic relic from the local pit walked opposite my direction. Our eyes met; I kept my balance on the skates and kept on going. (Darn, a missed opportunity).

Allow me a magic moment of digression. To fulfill the obligation of playing first chair and as soloist for a dance company in the pit is unrewarding, to say the least. There is the paycheck, true, but little else. For those who have had close encounters with an audition, take my word for it, the pit band is a road that leads to nowhere; a musical dead end. If you're a violinist who adores music, and has strong artistic inclinations, just try to imagine performing Ernest Chausson's "Poeme" to a click track or Metro Gnome with thumping feet. The concept is probably alien to most thoughtful musicians, but this is a realistic comparison.

One finds soon enough, that dancers and most choreographers are painfully oblivious to interpretive style, and nuance. All that they desire is either a faster or slower beat, a quicker or later entrance, a longer pause. Therefore, it is perhaps sufficient, and even wise, to hire a conductor devoid of musical sensitivity on the podium, or better yet, no conductor and canned music. In all my years in the local pit, whether the repertoire demanded extensive or incidental solos, the offerings were lost to all thumpers, great and small.

Retirement (Not)

2010-04-14T19:10:00.000-07:00

I have a great deal of admiration for violinist, Emanuel Borok. This morning I read his philosophy about stepping down from the concertmaster chair with Dallas Symphony Orchestra, after having served for twenty-five years. "Retiring is the wrong word," admits Borok. "I'm just making a change in my life. If you do this for 40 years, 39 of them as concertmaster, you get to the point that you want to do something else that you enjoy. I get more invitations to play concertos and recitals and chamber music than my schedule allows. This is another phase of my artistic life."

These are helpful words for any of us who have departed from an orchestral scene to full-time teaching.
Over the years, Borok's studio has thrived. "This is what I would end up doing anyway, so why not start building up a class now rather than at a later point?" Borok is on the faculty of both Southern Methodist University's Meadows School of the Arts, and University of North Texas.

Seattle violinist Emily Cole, a former pupil of my husband's, is among Borok's current crop of students. She shares these thoughts about her mentor:
The sound Mr. Borok produces on his violin is stunning. He is always searching for the most expressive bowing, the cleanest fingerings, and the best sound quality; he's always eager to share his discoveries with students. In teaching, Mr. Borok has developed a unique vocabulary to describe what he's after; he isn't merely recycling another person's explanations. Emanuel Borok cares for his students and is invigorated by teaching.

As I obsessively and compulsively edit Frantic the Memoir , chew my nails, and revisit scenes from my childhood, I have vivid recollections of both Emanuel Borok, who spent eleven years as concertmaster of the Boston Pops after emigrating from Moscow, Russia, and Joseph Silverstein, then concertmaster of Boston Symphony. It is heartening to know that both of these wonderful violinists continue to make themselves accessible to young musicians through teaching and concertizing. They are more active than ever; masters who serve as vital links from past to future.

My late violin teacher, Sarah Scriven, pointed out at a Boston Symphony concert, circa 1968, while I sat with her at the age of nine:
You know, darling. That Joseph Silverstein gets better all the time. He keeps improving with age.

That's the key.

cartoon by Kari Suomalainen, Finland

The Cello Suites

2010-04-09T12:03:00.000-07:00

A note of warning to any string player who reads "The Cello Suites—J.S.Bach, Pablo Casals, and the Search for a Baroque Masterpiece" by Eric Siblin. You may experience a sudden desire to revisit the works of J.S.Bach, as if for the first time, after reading this engaging book, and wish to compare various artists in their interpretative quests to play this timeless music.

Eric Siblin, an award-winning journalist, filmmaker and former pop music critic braids together the lives of J.S.Bach and cellist, Pablo Casals, in a literary style that is immensely entertaining for music lovers and lay people. Like a set of nesting dolls, or boxes within boxes, the discovery of one tale leads to another; an attempt to solve the mystery of the manuscript's disappearance in the eighteenth century, Pablo Casals' historic discovery of the music in Spain in the late-nineteenth century, how passion, religious beliefs and political values shaped the lives of Bach and Casals, and finally, how the suites continue to thrive and evolve in the hands of various musicians, classical, jazz artists, and rock musicians alike. "The greatness of Bach's music," admits cellist Mischa Maisky, "is that it doesn't belong to any time or place."

After rummaging through a Barcelona music shop for sheet music at the age of thirteen with his father, and finding the mysterious manuscript in a dark corner, Casals played the suites every day for twelve years before gathering the courage to perform them in public. Even in his nineties, Casals kept a routine of playing the Bach Suites beginning with the first suite on Monday, followed by the second on Tuesday, and so on. Casals explained to writer and peace activist Norman Cousins late in his life that Bach touched him "here"—and placed his hand over his heart.

This reminds me of the fierce determination violinist Joseph Silverstein demonstrated while offering up all six unaccompanied sonatas and partitas in performance. These one-time events, in honor of Silverstein's seventieth birthday, were presented as fund-raisers for organizations close to his heart; Northwest Chamber Orchestra among them.

Mr. Siblin is aware that period police have not been impressed with Casals' style. "These hard-liners dismiss him as more Romantic than authentic" writes the author. Siblin makes a valid point by stating that audience tastes have changed radically since the eighteenth century, and remaining open-minded to allow for today's listeners might not be a bad idea. From my own past experience, one critic, a Pippy Longstalker, trashed every performance that made use of modern instruments and vibrato. But then, maybe it caused too much static in her hearing aid.

Matzo Madness and Memories

2010-04-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

Last day of Passover. One of our guests brought the most delicious matzo: Yehuda Matzos. Ordinarily, I avoid the stuff, as it tastes like cardboard, but this year, the matzo was magnificent. Maybe it was just a good batch, I don't know. Late at night, I wandered for forty minutes around the kitchen, poured a glass of Manischewitz, and slathered butter and strawberry jam on those beauties. The combination of crunchy matzo topped with creamy butter and sweet berries tasted like Nirvana. Truth be told, I'm not ready to return to toast.

Passover, a season of renewal, is also an opportunity for reflection and contemplation. While Sarah and I were driving home from shopping, I mentioned that we've lived in the same house on Queen Anne for twenty-five years. That's half my life.
"Did you expect to live here that long when you moved from L.A.?" my daughter asked.
"No," I said. As I turned into our carport, I had a Proustian experience, and recalled magic moments of lost time.

Over the years, in our humble dwelling, my in-laws, Irja and Veikko Talvi would travel from Finland, and transform our house into a palace. Irja polished the kitchen counters until they gleamed, and Veikko set massive historical books on our dining table. He rattled away on Finland's history in Finnish, as if I could process a labyrinth of information, and strained his ears to hear Ilkka practice. He listened to his son's recordings over and over again with Seattle Symphony, demanding to know which violin Ilkka played.
"A wooden one," was the only response from his son.

My mother, Frances Kransberg, doted on her grand-daughters, Anna and Sarah. She'd go out to our backyard in the late summer, and pick apples, pears and plums from the plentiful trees. Then she'd simmer the fruit together in batches, and create a rich sauce for the girls. The house smelled like cinnamon and cloves. Because her four daughters, myself included, led such separate and disparate lives, my mother wouldn't have her children in the same room with her at the same time until her passing, in 2004. The shiva ritual took place in our living room.

Music has always filled our home. Many talented individuals have enriched our lives within these walls. I remember when George Shangrow accompanied me at the piano with the Beethoven Concerto before an appearance with Orchestra Seattle. Playing the Beethoven with George felt effortless, as he's a wonderful accompanist. Incidentally, the day that George was no longer part of KING-FM, we stopped listening to that station—forever. I think classical KING-FM was doomed right then and there.

Back in the days of Northwest Chamber Orchestra, Adam Stern arrived to rehearse Copland's "Vitebsk" for an all American chamber music program. Vitebsk is chock full of quarter tones which confounded me; the tonalities posed a challenge. My husband slipped into the room, appeared at once by my side, and placed my fingers accurately on the fingerboard. Besides having perfect pitch, Ilkka had analyzed the quarter tone interval down to a science. What I didn't realize at that time, but I certainly do now, is that it is vital for a musician to keep an open mind (and ear) with regard to repertoire. We learn the most from our cherished colleagues.

Ralf Gothoni practiced on our Steinway upright, and beamed energy into our home. He mused: It's not enough to be young and talented like we, of course, are. We still must practice.

And, believe it or not, Ilkka and I were once threatened at this address by the SS. The police came right to our front door, sent by a local conductor claiming that my husband had jeopardized his life with his blog. Ilkka then showed his blog to the policemen, and they agreed, shaking their heads at false accusations: the opposite was true. Tainted matzo? Madness? Perhaps, but like the Exodus from Egypt, we remember.

Gates of Freedom

2010-03-28T22:26:00.000-07:00

We're down to crunch time before Passover, and like my daughter, Anna, says in her recent post, I'm a nervous wreck. If you saw my kitchen, and the mess scattered everywhere, you'd understand why. There are piles of papers which appear to proliferate right before my eyes, and boxes of leavened products which must be dispensed with in the remaining hours. Our water heater blew this morning in the downstairs kitchen; it almost felt as if the Red Sea had come to us!

Pesakh, or Passover, commemorates the Israelites' escape from enslavement in Egypt. Jewish people throughout the world remember the importance of the event by eating special foods linked to the bitterness of bondage. We dwell on what it means to be liberated, beyond the Biblical event, during our Seder. This year, for the Haggadah, or narrative, each participant will have at his or her place setting Chaim Stern's "The Gates of Freedom". It is a beautiful book filled with wisdom from the sages. One Chassidic message particularly meaningful to me:
You cannot be redeemed until you see your own flaws, and try to correct them. We can be redeemed only to the extent to which we see ourselves.
For it is all too easy to point out faults in others without recognizing the same faults in ourselves. My daughter Sarah reminds me that what we see in others is most often our own reflection.

Last Friday evening, I attended the SIFF theater (in association with Seattle Jewish Film Festival) for the presentation of: "Harlan—In the Shadow of Jew Süss" directed by Felix Moeller. Veit Harlan was one of Germany's most notorious filmmakers, having collaborated with the Nazis in the making of anti-Semitic propaganda films, including Jew Süss, which was required to be watched by every S.S. member. Mr. Moeller's candid documentary focuses on the shadow Veit Harlan cast on his children and descendants, and the stigma they have had to endure throughout three generations. While a few of Harlan's descendants (he was married three times) converted or married into Judaism, the most poignant interview and perspective was that of Thomas Harlan, the first born. Left with intense shame for the actions and unrepentant attitude of his father Veit Harlan, Thomas has led a life of relentless activism in support of Jewish victims, and others who have been demonized and oppressed. Certainly, he has loved his father, but Thomas Harlan has been the most vocal critic of his father's work.

In my opinion, Moeller's documentary "Harlan—In the Shadow of Jew Süss," is an excellent film for Passover. Besides dealing with the universal theme of guilt and responsibility, this film, though not explicitly, commemorates the Miracle of the First Born.

Birth Announcement

2010-03-25T13:28:00.000-07:00

So, we're eating lunch today, and Ilkka glances up from his plate, and asks, "Whatever happened to the memoir that you spent almost two years working on? Why don't you just go ahead and publish it?'
"Oh yeah," I said, having forgotten about my childhood memoir. "Too busy blogging, I suppose."
"But it's all written," he says with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Your memoir is saved online on Google Documents. You could just publish your story in weekly installments, like the Russian writers of the past."
"I'm not sure. My memoir is so—juvenile."
"C'mon," he says. "You took all those writing workshops; what was the point in spending all that money? And it shows a different side to your life. It's your childhood perspective, after all."

I take a bite of the sandwich. The combination of dark rye, pickle, horseradish, dill havarti cheese, and peppered turkey fires up my imagination. Basket Case wine goes down smooth. I remember writing the memoir with the intention of giving it to my father as a peace offering, but he went and died before the completion. Just the same, I forged my way to the Epilogue.
I gaze into my husband's greenish eyes. How can I resist?
"Ok," I say. "I'll do it."

Here it is. Frantic: the Memoir.

Here I am at age 6.

Shakers

2010-03-24T16:59:00.000-07:00

This video showing Minneapolis Symphony concertmaster, Roger Frisch, undergoing brain surgery to relieve him of bow shake seems like an act of desperation, and rather ghoulish to me. I agree with Mr. Frisch that a loss of bow control is the kiss of death for a violinist. By now, it's no secret that most professionals and conservatory students regularly rely on low dose beta-blockers, and sometimes alcohol or benzodiazepines, to prevent adrenaline from wreaking havoc on a performance. I feel empathy for Mr. Frisch. We've all been there—not on the operating table perhaps, but faced with a loss of control during a sudden, intense rush of adrenaline. This condition, I might add, can strike at any magic moment.

I remember in my youth watching a scary performance of Yehudi Menuhin struggle through the Beethoven Concerto. He suffered anguish during the long sustained held notes which turned into flying staccato. I was so impressionable as a youngster that the effect of watching a great artist battle bow shake replicated itself in my own performances, a week or so later, and stuck for some time. These were the days before Propranolol, commonly known as Inderal. At some point, during the mid 1970's, I became a student of Erick Friedman at the Manhattan School of Music. I never thought he had been tormented by stage fright and bow shake, as he reminded me of a prize fighter, but sure enough, Friedman was all too eager to talk about his own survival. It boiled down to this: As a youngster, Friedman played with so much underlying tension and fear that he suffered "psychosomatic asthma" before each performance. There were times when he fought to catch his breath, and wound up in the hospital rather than onstage. It wasn't until Friedman closely studied with both Nathan Milstein and Jascha Heifetz, that he began to re-engineer his own playing, with a keen eye toward what he called, "conscious relaxation". How Friedman managed this, I still do not comprehend, but the crucial factor is that he himself believed in his methodology, enough to face down cameras during the famous Heifetz Masterclass Series on television. Erick Friedman was a marshmallow on the inside, but gave an appearance of outward unflappability.

As I teach students with the goal of successful future performances, I have come to rely on wisdom from psychiatrist, logo-therapist and concentration camp survivor Viktor E. Frankl. In his important book, "The Will To Meaning", Frankl devotes numerous pages to the topic of hyper-reflection and the confrontation of fear. In a sense, this is the crux of what performers go through during an anxiety attack; hyper-reflection means excessive attention. A performer undergoes a case of nervousness, for no obvious reason, and then becomes fearful of the event reoccurring. This presents an "anticipatory anxiety" which turns into a conditioned response, and continues indefinitely, growing into a performer's worst nightmare. In "The Will to Meaning", Frankl gives his patients permission to do the very things they actually fear, and perform them with abandon. The practice is known as paradoxical intention:

"We know a case in which a violinist always tried to play as consciously as possible. From putting his violin in place on his shoulder to the most trifling detail, he wanted to do everything consciously, to perform in full self-reflection. This led to a complete artistic breakdown...Treatment had to give back to the patient his trust in the unconscious, by having him realize how much more his unconscious was than his conscious."

Of course, I have come to believe in the power of suggestion. I think a person is capable of being transformed by healing words. At one point, I recall Erick Friedman offering his blessings for me to take a risk and "mess up". And here, I must include Friedman's words which I've never forgotten: If you played the notes upside down or backwards, you'd still sound like an angel to me.

Many parents have solicited advice on how to minimize the nasty effects of stage fright for their youngsters. Here are a few suggestions, although this is not a one size fits all approach: Make sure that your child is given permission to make blunders or mistakes, and that he/she will not be measured by any performance or compared to others. Please let teachers know that to push a bit is acceptable, but to assign works which are beyond the student's capabilities have the potential to turn disastrous. Accept challenges in small steps. Have your child perform for family, friends, teddy bears, cats and dogs. If those performances go well, great, take the next little step. It's normal for children who have previously been unaware of the public to become self-conscious during adolescence. Lastly, not every talented individual is destined to be onstage, or viewed under the lens of a microscope.

The Last Metro

2010-03-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

This past week has brought tragic news of the sudden illness and death of violinist-violist, Ruth Sereque, my colleague from the Northwest Chamber Orchestra and Pacific Northwest Ballet Orchestra. When Ilkka told me the upsetting word of her passing, I screamed. In all honesty, I thought Ruth would outlive us all. She might have been the poster child for Whole Grains, Nature's Path, or Erewhon; her youthful looks belied her age. Even when I was in my mid-twenties, I couldn't keep pace with Ruth's stride up the Queen Anne counterbalance, her viola strapped to her back. After poking around thrift shops, garage and rummage sales (as she taught me how to stretch a buck), we'd head back to her place for fresh baked bread or pizza, and a steaming bowl of vegetable or bean soup. We compared notes about stage fright and how our husbands were spared the condition. She marveled that Chris, her husband, would appear years younger whenever he played concerts as principal clarinetist for Seattle Symphony, that his face radiated the delight and innocence of a child whenever he played a solo. Meanwhile, we'd joke how the strain of performance nearly killed us. I'm not sure which of us, Ruth or myself, was more phobic about auditions—I think our score was just about even.

It is said that old age and death are the great levelers. I'd even hedge a bet that a depressed economy guides people to think and behave differently, as in a reassessment of values. Which leads me to a sense of awe and gratitude for an impromptu visit and gift of "The Last Metro" I received from a musical genius friend a few days ago, who probably has felt every bit as dispossessed and exiled as I have. My only regret was that our rapprochement was long overdue, and I wish I had gone to him first with an apology, requesting a second or third chance.

François Truffaut's film "The Last Metro" takes place in Paris during the Nazi Occupation. The narrative, based on images of Truffaut's childhood, revolves around life backstage and behind the scenes at the Montmartre Theatre. The title refers to the practice under which Parisian theaters ended shows in time for audience members to catch the last train before the 11:00 curfew. People flocked to the theaters for warmth as heat was lacking in their homes. At least they could huddle together in the theater.

Madame Steiner, played by actress Catherine Deneuve, unbeknown to her colleagues and friends is hiding her director husband, Lucas Steiner, a Jew, in the cellar of the theater to protect him from the Gestapo. Steiner has been forced off the stage and, as a result, faced with a profound sense of loss and displacement. At one point in "The Last Metro", Lucas Steiner climbs up to the stage from his makeshift set in the cellar at night accompanied by his wife, "Let me just breathe in the smell of the stage."

Meanwhile, a young rising star, Bernard Granger, played by Gérard Depardieu, joins the troupe for a play called "The Disappearance" which was supposed to have been directed by Steiner. Bernard Granger (Depardieu), who we come to regard as a hopeless womanizer, is at the same time a partisan for the Resistance. A parallel to the meaningless flirtations with the ladies are the risks Granger endures while working for the underground to rescue his country from the German Occupiers. And it is, of course ironic, that Lucas Steiner (who is in a different sense underground, in the cellar), wishes to be on stage while Granger is on stage but desires to pursue his work underground. Bernard Granger is the only member of the troupe who refuses to collaborate, on any terms, with members of the Gestapo. In one riveting scene, Granger, who has received a glowing review as a "rising star" even though the play and the rest of the cast is panned, attacks the sinister critic from the Right Wing paper "Je Suis Partout" (I Am Everywhere). The critic, who has strong ties to the Gestapo, has panned the play because he himself desires artistic control of the theater. Granger forces an apology out of him to the entire cast. While everyone else in the Montmartre family makes nice to the duplicitous critic and nods an acceptance to the Gestapo officials for reasons of sheer survival, Granger refuses to comply. He lashes out at the others: The theaters are full but jails are just as crowded.

The sparse score by Georges Delerue which serves to heighten tension proves that less can be more. My daughter Sarah walked into the room during the middle of the film, heard a strained motif and asked, "Who is that character? I can tell from the music he must be evil." As it turns out, Truffaut had collaborated with Delerue eleven times throughout his career; I must point out, collaboration in the positive sense of the word.
"The Last Metro" is a film which recognizes that the theater imitates life, and life imitates theater. I hold Truffaut's masterpiece dear, and in my heart, the person who gave it to me.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Ruth Sereque. Photo of us together in Manhattan during mid–80s

Tous les matins du monde (All the World's Mornings)

2010-03-10T09:12:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite past times over the last few years has been the almost daily walk to the local library in Queen Anne. It saddens me that hours have been reduced due to budget cuts. I have met countless friends and kindred spirits there. All I've had to do is reach round the shelves, and the borders between past and present have seemed to melt away in my fingertips. For a while it was Russia and everything Russian. I couldn't leave my local branch without a bagful of Gogol, Chekhov and Dostoevsky. Russian films were another matter; my Finnish husband pleading with me to turn down the volume on our DVD player; the Russian language reminding him of the difficulties his family endured during the Talvisota or Winter War. He is, no doubt, relieved that I've moved on to French films, but what my husband doesn't know--yet--is that I have a harmless crush on French actor Gerard Depardieu.

My interest in Depardieu began with a viewing of "Le Pacte du Silence" a psychologically gripping film with this underlying message: There are two sides to every secret, especially when the truth behind the secret is a lie. In this movie Depardieu plays Doctor Joachim Ferrer, a Jesuit priest devoted to a life of service for the church while seeking refuge from a violent past.

Searching for Gerard Depardieu films on a regular basis causes my daughter, Sarah, to stifle giggles; her mother has reverted to adolescent behavior. A few days ago, I struck gold when I laid eyes on Alain Corneau's 1991 film "Tous les matins du monde" on the return video cart. Although "All the World's Mornings" was one of the most celebrated motion pictures to explore the art of music, I wasn't aware of its existence. I glanced at the cover while fingering Depardieu's name, then clutched the DVD and headed straight for the check out.

Set in seventeenth-century France, "All the World's Mornings," based on the short novel by Pascal Quignard, weaves a tale around the life of composer and viol player Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe, a solitary widower and musical genius who rejects the king's invitation to be a court musician. He chooses, instead, a reclusive life dedicated to the service of music, and the upbringing of his two young daughters. He lives in a hut on a remote country farm. The private, ghostly visitations of Sainte-Colombe's deceased wife, as she sits by a candlelit table topped with a flask of wine, urging her husband to write his compositions down in a manuscript book bound in Moroccan red leather while he plays the viol, enables the onlooker to sense the timeless communal bond transmitted between souls through music.

One spring, an ambitious young man by the name of Marin Marais, approached the master in his hut to be accepted as his student of the viol. Marais had heard of Sainte-Colombe's fame which was received by the placing of a seventh string on the instrument. This enabled the instrument to encompass all the registers of a human voice; that of a child, that of a woman, that of a man, broken and grave. Sainte-Colombe expressed his reservations of accepting the new student after hearing the eager youth play for him:
You know the correct position of the body.Your ornaments are ingenious and sometimes charming. But I did not hear any music. The master continues. You could be a help in the dancing of people who dance. You could accompany actors who sing on the stage. You will earn a living.You will live surrounded by music but you will not be a musician. Have you a feeling heart? Have you a thinking brain?

What unfolds in the narrative is a relationship fraught with conflict and rivalry, complicated by the young Marin Marais' passionate love affair with one of Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe's daughters.

An opening shot of the film is sustained for an amazing six minutes on Marin Marais (Depardieu) now powdered, bewigged and elderly (but still, in my eyes, handsome) as a court musician in Versailles, while he reflects in a remorseful tone of voice reminiscences about his beloved teacher, now dead:
I had a teacher and the shadows took him. He was all austerity and rage, as mute as a fish. I am an impostor. He was Music.
But, alas, the specter of Saint-Colombe appears in the doorway, and reassures Marais:
I was proud to have been your teacher.

"Tous les matins du monde" is a profound meditation on the sacred relationship between master and student on a quest to discover and attain the highest realm of music. The shadows took Sainte-Colombe, as his student recalls, in the sense that we are left without knowledge of when or where the composer died but, thankfully, we do have many of his compositions, as featured by Catalan viol player Jordi Savall, the King of Spain on the film. Savall's performance throughout the movie bathes the listener in a wash of dreamy sonority. To hear the beauty of Savall's tone and interpretative style of works by composers Sainte-Colombe and Marais on the soundtrack of "Tous les matins du monde" is a lesson in itself.

This is one DVD that I will have to purchase and own before returning it to the library; another life-long friend.

Illustrations: Cover of All the World's Mornings
Painting of Marin Marais

Proust and Transfiguration

2010-03-01T22:24:00.000-08:00

Jeremy Eichler, classical music critic for The Boston Globe, shares his deep appreciation for Marcel Proust in The Proust Project: "When I go to concerts, I often bring a colleague or a friend, but my most frequent companion, the one who always arrives just as the lights have dimmed and the silence fallen, is Marcel Proust. Indeed, ever since I first read Proust, his musical sensibilities have joined me in the concert hall, for in addition to being the poet of love, of longing, of memory, and of loss, Proust is the poet of listening."

I, too, feel as if Marcel Proust is by my side whenever I listen to music, especially during my sessions with young people. While teaching the Saint-Saëns "Havanaise" to our gifted concertmaster from Garfield High School, I reached into the book-shelf and found a recording of the legendary French violinist, Jacques Thibaud, performing the same work. During many of my teaching sessions, I encourage students to listen to the masters from the past, to glean from them, to endeavor to copy the subtlest nuances for purposes of refinement. A performance of Brahms "Hungarian Dance" rendered by Joseph Joachim proves a more valuable tool for learning than any of my words or gesticulations. I'll admit there are times when it's best when I remain silent for a short period during the lesson, and allow the disembodied voices of Fritz Kreisler and Pablo de Sarasate from the CD player to fill the studio, and speak for me.

Proust's invented composer, Vinteuil, is regarded as having been inspired by Camille Saint-Saëns, whose artistry Proust revered. Of his pianistic ability, and his performance of a Mozart Concerto at the Paris Conservatoire, Proust noted: "In Saint-Saëns' playing there are no pianissimos where you feel you'll faint if they go on any longer, and which are cut off just in the nick of time by a forte, no broken chords sending instantaneous shivers down your back, none of those fortissimos which leave you bruised from head to foot, as if you had been surf-bathing, none of those pianist's writhings and tossed back locks of hair, which infect the purity of music with the sensuality of the dance..."

The young, dashing fictional violinist, Charles Morel, who sweeps through the Parisian, aristocratic society performing in the most sought-after soirees, causing the ladies to swoon in their own salons, is portrayed as an up and coming rival to violinists Enescu, Capet and Thibaud. Hearing Thibaud's purity of sound on the recording of "Havanaise", the nobility of phrasing, mouth-watering portamenti, and almost imperceptible vibrato, I feel myself going back a hundred years, as if stepping right into the pages of "Remembrance of Things Past". Thibaud "French to the tip of his bow" was born the same year as Proust, 1880.

As I revisit Proust's depiction of the violinist Morel, his artistry, and the elixir of seduction that was Vinteuil's music, with notes and phrases painted in sublime and dazzling colors, I begin to hear Thibaud and Saint-Saëns in a different and more personal way, as if my old ears have been replaced with newer, more attuned ones. Marcel Proust has composed "Remembrance of Things Past" in various keys of solemnity and joy, a symphony of colors, with words that sing, dance and are loved, reminding the reader that Art is Eternal.

On Human Spirit

2010-02-25T14:54:00.000-08:00

As I took my walk this morning to Discovery Park, I carried with me in my backpack two inspiring articles about musical conductors. The first article, "A Conductor Whose Worship Stands Apart" by The New York Times reporter, Daniel J. Wakin practically induced me to tears. In contrast to the much publicized inhumane spirit of Seattle's musical scene, Manfred Honeck, the music director of the Pittsburgh Symphony shares his deeply personal view with Mr. Wakin of the role spirituality plays in his work with orchestras. "It's a guide," he said of his religious conviction. "I'm an instrument, to make music better, to make my profession more honest. It allows me to be very deep in my soul. Therefore, the music probably comes very deep from that area of my soul." Honeck admitted that he, at one time, had flirted with the priesthood but found his way to the orchestra podium instead.

In an era when so many orchestral conductors and performing artists worship themselves, I find Mr. Honeck's words soothing. I've often felt that an orchestra reflects the music director's soul. I'm grateful to know that our former student, Irene Cheng, is now part of the Pittsburgh Symphony family. My sentiments of tenderness also arose from the sad news that Teresa Harth, longtime violinist with several orchestras, including Pittsburgh, and wife of famed conductor and violinist Sidney Harth, passed away a few days ago. The memories of concerts with Sidney Harth and Northwest Chamber Orchestra bubbled to the surface of my mind, and I became nostalgic.

Later, while sitting by the rocks at South Beach trail to gaze at the water, I reached into my bag for an article "A Conductor Does Not Need Hair." Die Welt features an interview with Christophe Eschenbach exploring his perspectives on flight, difficult childhood, and his departure from the U.S.A.

Eschenbach, born in 1940 in Breslau, Germany (now Poland) was orphaned during World War II. His mother died while giving birth to him, and his father was sent to the war front and killed. As a result of the childhood trauma, Eschenbach lost his ability to speak for almost a year. After the war, while living with his foster mother who was a pianist, she asked Christoph if he wanted to play music. His foster mother had observed how the child "listened, listened and listened to her play." Studying music was, for Eschenbach, a lifeline. "Music was my recovery," he explains.

I was mesmerized while watching and listening to Eschenbach conduct Mahler in the documentary film "A Wayfarer's Journey". At the very least, this should help to dispel the theory that a conductor requires big hair in order to cast a spell over musicians and audience. (Eschenbach is bald; I mean, Ken Wilbur type bald). He tells Die Welt: "My image, you know, had never really been built up on hair." As for his exit as chief conductor with Philadelphia Orchestra: "I'm glad that I'm away from there. The (mis)management pretended that the orchestra did not like me. It was a lie."

And, as I continued on my walk around the magical paths of Discovery Park, absorbed in contemplation, I remembered the sense of spirituality and guidance I experienced during concerts, rehearsals and discussions with the miracle that is pianist and conductor Ralf Gothoni, and I felt at peace.

Awakening

2010-02-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

One of the inevitable tasks of being a teacher is that ultimately, we must let go. At the conclusion of this school year, I will be saying farewell to a few seniors, after many years of collaboration. Hopefully, my students will have learned as much from me as I have learned from them. It is not only violin technique and musicianship that I explore with my students. Our collaboration goes much deeper than that, perhaps into the realm of personal transformation. Many parents and colleagues have expressed a reverence for their instrumental teachers that transcends any other educational experience. An accomplished cellist friend of mine, Michael Zachary, who happens also to be an attorney and plays with Rainier Symphony, has shared that the wisdom transmitted from his former cello teacher remains unparalleled to this day.

Occasionally, the time with a student is cut too short, perhaps due to a family's need to relocate for employment purposes. Such is the case for me with one immensely talented student, a twelve-year-old whose artistry, I'm convinced, is genetically encoded from ancestral roots in Odessa, Ukraine, a part of the world that produced some of the greatest writers, poets, actors and musicians.

On top of my messy desk, next to my laptop, rests the "Collected Stories" of Isaak Babel (1894-1941). I have read one of the stories, "Awakening" several times, for the theme of a parent imposing his fantasies on a child strikes an all-too-familiar chord with me. Babel, himself having studied the violin in his youth while growing up in Odessa, tells the tale of a young violinist forced by his father to study with the fictional Professor Zagursky (most likely modeled after the famous pedagogue Piotr Stolyarsky who taught Nathan Milstein, David Oistrakh, and Leonid Kogan, among others). The young Jewish protagonist, though lacking in musical talent, is to be deemed a wunderkind like Mischa Elman, Efrem Zimbalist and Jascha Heifetz, in order to lift the family from dire poverty. The push from his father and fame frenzied teacher to succeed backfires, however, and eventually the young violinist casts his violin into the sea. But all is not lost as our protagonist awakens to a love for literature and becomes, eventually, a writer acquiring fame on his own terms.

"When a boy was four or five, his mother took the tiny, puny creature to Mr. Zagursky. Zagursky ran a Wunderkind factory, a factory of Jewish dwarfs in lace collars and patent-leather shoes---Zagursky gave them a first push in the right direction, and then the children were sent to Professor Auer in St. Petersburg."

I find Babel's tale holds much relevance for me as I continue to work with young students and counsel their parents. The ways of learning are manifold, and as I, too, have sort of awakened, I feel as if I have tapped into an ability to problem solve. As I teach, I'm guided by an instinct, or intuition, a sort of psychic connection rather than an exact method. I check for signs from my young students that their music is inspired by a desire to express themselves, a respect for artistry, and that it is based on their own dreams, not just those of their parents. And with the time that we will have shared together, my task as a teacher will be accomplished.

In Reverse

2010-02-04T14:00:00.000-08:00

It's interesting how dreams unlock the prison which is our mind. Often, in my sleep, I step back into the past and play beautiful concerts for appreciative audiences. Sometimes, an apology emanates from the lips of a baton wielder who inflicted undue pain and suffering on my family, but I soon wake up and realize it's only a dream. This reminds me of an interview I heard when Christopher Reeves "Superman" spoke of the sadness he'd feel after awakening from dreams after his tragic accident. During dream state, not only could Reeves move his arms and legs, but he could soar through the skies as Superman. Sleep must have acted as a balm. But then, he'd awaken to reality; a quadriplegic with no hope of recovery.

Lately, I've awakened from dreams in which my car is going wildly in reverse. At dare-devil speed, there's nothing that can be done to stop my Eurovan, and I'm strapped to my seat. There's a dose of rationality here; Ilkka, as a Finnish driver, tends to leave me white-knuckled in the passenger seat. But I think this recurring dream could be indicative of our lives in music, especially as I witness a reversing trend in the arts throughout this country.

Jean Godden wrote a thoughtful article which states that even in the best of times, the arts are strapped. As she points out, it's a struggle just to keep the stage lights on. With supporters and donors diminishing during economic hard times, and younger people less willing to subsidize for the "finer things in life", organizations will be forced to downsize their way into sustainability. We're experiencing a recalibration period, a gradual return to a responsible business model that, in the end, will hopefully become financially stable. I remember my former days in the Northwest Chamber Orchestra, an ensemble that was made to vanish a few years ago. From the moment I stepped in the door, each day was a fight for survival, with board members, management and players at loggerheads as to how to keep the group viable. One elderly board member, bless his heart, took out a second mortgage on his home to try and save the orchestra.

When Ilkka and I first moved to Seattle from Los Angeles in 1984, many of the local musicians were employed in areas outside of music. There were a couple of bass players that side-lined in carpentry, a violinist friend who delivered pizza, a cellist who worked for Boeing. In those days, the Seattle Symphony was not a guaranteed full time salary. If I remember correctly, there were A contracts and B contracts; left over vestiges of an era when not everyone was entitled to full membership, yet players were grateful to play. As I became acquainted with Seattle freelancers who eked out their paltry livings by piecing together an assortment of church gigs, wedding dates, and private teaching, I realized that well paying opportunities were going to be limited in the Pacific Northwest. Obviously, if Ilkka and I had preferred the material world, we would have remained in Los Angeles.

The orchestras on life support or listed as Do Not Resuscitate are growing longer each day in this area. Everett Symphony is the latest casualty. Bellevue Symphony, while paying its musicians minimum wage (a whopping $8 per hour) might consider a return to its former community orchestra status, as it was in its heyday.

As one might expect, arts organizations are playing it safe with programming, dumbing down to the lowest common denominator. Unlike our European counterparts who can venture into challenging new repertoire, less fearful of risk taking due to government subsidies, artists in this country have little chance of growing their skills. In America, box office and senior donors rule.

Remember that nice little phrase: Time to move forward?
Try reverse.

The Predictioneer's Game

2010-01-26T12:31:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago, I placed on hold at the library Bruce Bueno de Mesquita's latest book, "The Predictioneer's Game: Using the Logic of Brazen Self-Interest to See and Shape the Future." After waiting for a couple of months, and not making my way high enough on the reserve list, I became impatient and purchased it on my Kindle. Not that a Kindle edition can ever replace an old-fashioned book, as far as I'm concerned. I'm one of those readers that delights in stroking pages, lifting the book close to my nose, and sniffing the insides. If it's a library edition, I like to imagine my brothers and sisters traveling on a similar journey inside the author's head.

While reading "The Predictioneer's Game", I'm wrestling with de Mesquita, the political science professor at New York University and a fellow at the Hoover Institution of Stanford. His book doesn't go down easy. I would rather believe in the altruism of mankind, and that loving kindness prevails. When I'm finished with this book, I'll return to my comforting friends: Frankl, Ruskin and Proust. But I know that de Mesquita's claim that "every leader's top priority is to stay in power for as long as possible" has merit, so I'll give him a chance. It is tough to begin to analyze people's motives in such a cold, selfish manner. Game theory, the label which the author uses to forecast future events, posits that people do what they believe is in their best interest by paying attention to how other prospective supporters and opponents react at all times. Political survival is crucial in determining human nature, and you can use the formula to grasp motives behind every move. Life is but a game of strategy.

That might help to explain the negotiating tactics that I've been following in the recent press with regard to symphony orchestras and their internal divides in the face of economic uncertainty. Certainly, in the local arena, a "leader" on his way out the door will not have the same inclination to support and reward his workers, and in fact, may use a punitive approach for his loss of power and clout. The incentives to help an ailing arts group may disappear with his title. The what's in it for me effect is palpable.

Conversely, orchestra musicians threatening a decline in musical standard as commensurate with salary, is well, in my opinion an empty threat. As the Wall Street Journal points out in "Too Big to Succeed" orchestras in the United States face an all time low both in terms of audience demand and in philanthropic support. There are so many talented and skilled instrumentalists willing to jump onto the band wagon, with their own self-interests, that I call these grumpy, over-salaried orchestra musicians bluff. They are fortunate to hold exorbitantly high salaried positions. Are the players acting out of self interest? Yes. Do they honestly value their work as a means to enrich the community? No. If this were not the case, a note played at lower compensation would be performed with as much effort and care as a musical note priced higher, and with as much pride in the goal of deliverance of beautiful music to the public.

And what about music critics being paid to offer slanted reviews? Just the other day, while glancing at a classical music web site, I caught a blatant appeal for readers to subscribe to the arts organizations that were promoted on the web site in order for the critic to promote those artists by way of their advertising funds. It's a good thing we don't have a system in place where physicians can be paid by detractors to extinguish lives. At least, I don't think we do.

I would like to believe that Bruce Bueno de Mesquita is overly pessimistic in his conviction of base, human character. He's lumped Mother Theresa in with all the rest of the self-serving leaders and political players, which I find unsettling. She may have done nice things, writes de Mesquita, but she was really seeking fame and reward for herself, either in this life or the next.

But I'm still listening. Truth is, personnel managers and contractors of orchestras can be bought off easily if they feel their jobs might be jeopardized. Does game theory really hold? Can we use this as a tool to forecast the future, even in the arts?

Cronies will do whatever it takes to keep the boss in power. They will oppress their fellow citizens, they'll silence a free press and punish protesters. They will torture, maim and murder to protect the incumbent as long as the incumbent delivers enough goodies to them.

What do you think?

Disappearing Act

2010-01-03T21:30:00.000-08:00

This morning it occurred to me that perhaps I should establish a support group for disappeared and disillusioned musicians. The way I see it, there will be plenty of classical artists in need of such therapy. As a teacher, I can't help but feel concern for the many youngsters hoping to establish their careers in music. Yet many "mentors" avoid discussing the inevitable, and allow their students to chase unrealistic dreams, perhaps for selfish motives. The truth is that supply has surpassed demand in our industry, and classical musicians, as a species, are endangered.

Some comments from a recent Seattle Times article regarding the threat of an orchestra strike might prove illuminating:

Music Lover, if I have to choose between a toilet that flushes and an evening at the symphony, I'm definitely going to be on the phone with the plumber. And rest assured, a non-functioning toilet will definitely "heighten your senses" if not attended to in a timely manner.

I've observed when I go to the symphony that its rare to see anyone under the age of 50.

You want to be paid what you are "worth" but you don't want to earn it. You just want people to donate to you.

I'd love to see more unemployed musicians. There's such a shortage.

Yeah, go ahead and strike. It's not like the citizens of Seattle can't do without a few violinists and cellists for the next several months. These are not exactly critical services they're providing. We're in a recession folks, with an unemployment figure of 10%. Get a clue.

They are lucky they have jobs. Quit your bitching and play your damn cello.

***

About a year after the Northwest Chamber Orchestra filed under Chapter 7, a violinist friend of mine had the idea of hosting a coming out party for the creation and announcement of our new selves. She proposed that since few audience and Board members had appreciated or comprehended what we, the artists, had sacrificed for our chamber orchestra which lasted for over thirty years, it was time for all of us to put the past behind us, and to forge ahead with new aspirations and goals. We'd celebrate together.

The party was fantastic. Some colleagues chose to dress in disguise, to help get in touch with their untapped, inner selves. One cellist showed up as Cleopatra. Anyway, the hostess of this celebration composed an extensive guest list which included many of the souls who had helped mold the NWCO: Louis Richmond, Alun Francis, Heiichiro Ohyama, Sidney Harth, Adam Stern, Joseph Silverstein and Ralf Gothoni, to name a few, but none were available for the occasion. (The destroyers were not invited to our wake, I mean, party).

At the end of the evening, we sat in a circle by candlelight. The purpose was to define and state aloud our future goals and mutually recognize each person's potential. "I'll be a teacher," said one individual, who had decided to return to school for the necessary credentials. "But my expectations will have to be lower when it comes to music. Kids don't get it nowadays." Another player reluctantly gave herself permission to become a full-time housewife with nothing more to deal with than cleaning and cooking. "It's okay, don't you think?" She looked askance. "I never really had time for that stuff. Besides, now I won't have to worry about being protective of my hands."

The husband of a violinist talked about how much more difficult and exacting playing the violin seemed than baseball. Yet, one couldn't make nearly as much money playing the fiddle as a professional pitcher or hitter, or whatever it's called.

Then it was my turn to speak up within the circle.

"A writer," I said, glancing around the room at my colleagues turned characters. At that magic moment, as I witnessed our decline, it dawned on me that I'd have more than enough material.

Book of Happiness

2009-12-31T15:51:00.000-08:00

As I follow this news about disgruntled musicians, I'm struck by a sense of gratitude for what this past year has brought into my life. As my former colleagues engage in a battle of entitlement, believing themselves to be invincible and trying to demonstrate, as if clinging for dear life, that relations have warmed with their baton wielder, I reopen the gift I received from my seventeen-year-old daughter during the holidays. It is "Mom's Book of Happiness" by Sarah Lilian Talvi. I can assure you that if our house were burning down, and if I could only choose one item to rescue from the flames, it would be this book, for it is filled with photos of those I cherish, beloved memories, and messages of love, learning and wisdom. It is a book of joy, and as I turn the pages filled with images of those I have loved and lost, I hear my daughter's whisper: Live your life genuinely, Sarah writes, and all will unfold as planned.

Though some would have believed that the cruel ostracism inflicted upon my family from the disgruntled ones and their cronies would have broken our family apart by now, the opposite is true. I glance back at 2009 and recognize that all our struggles have been valuable, like investments bringing dividends of personal satisfaction and accomplishment. We have built our own community and changed the course of our lives.

This morning, as I listened to a brilliant student from Garfield High School work through Edgar Meyer's Violin Concerto, I marveled how convincingly this young woman played. She has been my pupil for a number of years. When she began with me, she played like a tiny, but cute, mouse. When did my cautious student evolve into a self-assured artist? And where will her path in music lead her? She will enrich others wherever she goes, that's for certain.

Yesterday another student, who is all of twelve years old, handed me the first movement to his own composition, Sonata for Violin and Piano. We played through the work together. I was filled with wonder at his power of originality. True, he has been guided by an inspiring composition mentor, Janice Giteck, but no teacher, no matter how dedicated, can supply a student with talent.

Another gifted violin student has discovered the joy of participating in Young Virtuosi Chamber Orchestra as a violist, learning viola as I did, on the spot. Now he plays Bach solo works with equal beauty and technical mastery on both instruments. He will, as I have done during my previous incarnation, experience the thrill and intimacy of a chamber ensemble where each individual voice counts.

"Don't brag," warns my daughter Anna, even though I cannot believe she is only twenty-two, has attained a Masters Degree in Education, is married to a wonderful young man who shares her values, and leads a promising career. "But," I argue, "as a mother and teacher, I'm entitled."

Have I mentioned that my student Andrew Sumitani received a glowing review from the Seattle Weekly for his performance of the Bruch Violin Concerto with the Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra?
Solo instruments project gloriously, though, and in the Bruch soloist Andrew Sumitani's serenely elegant, showboating-free performance was beautifully balanced against the orchestra's pillowy richness.

And as I reflect on 2009, I feel a rush of anticipation for 2010, and for all the pages in my book of happiness.

Excuse Me, Lowering What Bar?

2009-12-29T16:50:00.000-08:00

As 2009 draws to a close, I feel gratitude for family, students and friends. The recession has hit many hard with hiring freezes, lay offs, and salary cutbacks. Although my eldest daughter Anna and her husband Andrew have been fortunate by gaining full-time, salaried employment, complete with good benefits immediately following their graduations, I worry for many of their peers and colleagues who cannot begin their paths to financial independence and are mired in college debts. Young artists are finding employment opportunities particularly daunting; I advise all my students to pursue skills outside the field of music in order to survive.

It wasn't many years ago, less than five to be exact, when our daughters Anna and Sarah were faced with the uncertainty of their parents' job losses. To this day, I have the uncomfortable recollection of playing in Seattle Symphony's opening gala concert at the start of 2004/05 season as a ringer, and silently observing while the personnel manager stepped up on the podium during the first rehearsal to announce that checks would be waiting for the musicians in the lounge. Knowing my husband had just been illegally terminated and therefore my family's well-being had been compromised, the personnel manager averted my eyes, signaling to me a guilty, but not guilty enough, conscience. This was the orchestra that had proclaimed itself World Class, though most of the players were at that time, how shall we put this delicately, past their prime. Incidentally, most of those players remain to this day.

This morning I read a web post by Tim Hale, Chair of SSOPO. It appears the local band is in a state of turmoil over recent negotiations. Will decreasing SSO's salaries really "lower the bar" and hamper the ensemble's competitiveness? If "talent sourcing" is suffering, it's because the organization, like several others in this vicinity, has effectively banished many of the community's most gifted and experienced players, and put off potential newcomers by scare tactics and bullying.

Wake up to reality, dear colleagues, before you flatter yourselves by thinking you're indispensable in the event of a work stoppage. There are plenty of unemployed, under-utilized, young musicians everywhere, streaming out of conservatories, eager for any and all opportunities. What makes you believe that your organization, unlike all others across the nation, should be immune from cost cutting measures and reductions to survive the general malaise towards classical music? And classical musicians are becoming a desperate bunch, scrounging round for gigs like sharks circling their prey. What will happen to players from other world class wonders facing extinction? What prevents them from relocating to Seattle, a city as much Paradise as Hell.

With the over-supply and lack of demand facing orchestras today, I imagine there are many truly talented, first-rate conductors eager to experience their own magic moment without the motive of greed. Who knows? A local band might even find an original for a music director, one who has no need to resort to trickery or Morse Code to get messages across.

Great white shark

Love And Marriage

2009-11-23T12:22:00.000-08:00

It was a far cry from the way Ilkka and I got married, that's for sure. Last Saturday evening, our twenty-two year old daughter, Anna Mirjam Talvi, was betrothed to Andrew Michael Blick after a courtship of over three years. Anna and Andrew hosted a beautiful, non-traditional ceremony at the Roeder Mansion in Bellingham with a small circle of dear friends and family in attendance. As Anna made her way down the staircase into the gathering, there was an audible gasp from the audience. To my eyes, there's never been a more magnificent bride. If my mother were still alive, she would have kvelled at the sight of her grand-daughter. Perhaps Anna has a sixth sense. Her grandmother had visited in a dream, and appeared to her brimming with joy and excitement for the sacred event.

Native American prayers and Jewish meditations of Kabbalistic origin helped to create an illuminating, spiritual experience. The ceremony was further enhanced by the musical poetry of violinists Rose McIntosh and Alyssa Fridenmaker. A dessert reception followed with a charming and captivationg toast by the father of the bride, who, I might add, appeared radiant. Seated by our side during the ceremony was our dear friend, retired Seattle Symphony violinist, Karen Bonnevie. Karen hosted the baby shower before Anna's birth back in 1987, and has watched over our family all these years. She is also Anna's chosen Godmother.

Our girls, Anna and Sarah, have always enjoyed hearing the tale of our own unconventional wedding, especially since our reception consisted of a trip to Carnation's, the ice-cream parlor. Ilkka, rather than popping the question, made a proclamation that we would be married when I turned twenty-five. And so, after a grueling recording session in Los Angeles (our wedding was set for eight o'clock in the evening, but due to over-time, we didn't make our appearance until after ten) we tied the knot. Our event was witnessed by four people: the pastor, my late mother Fran Kransberg, and Ilkka's two daughters from his first marriage. I still remember the taut smile on my mother's face; the look of anxious resignation at the thought of losing her fourth daughter, the baby. She herself had been married for thirty seven years before being jilted by my father. I suppose my mom had lost faith in marriage for a while, and trust in the male species. But a few years later, when she laid eyes on Anna, she shook her head and said, "It's meant to be."

Pastori Lehti, a friend to the Finnish community, performed our service with soft spoken dignity. He warned that marriage "for better or worse" is not so difficult when times are good. But when life throws a curve for the worse, he said, that's another matter. This is when marriages tend to fall apart. Devotion, emotional maturity, and inner strength are ingredients for a solid marriage; wisdom which has been embedded into my heart forever. And in turn, I'd like to pass this recipe along to my Anna and Andrew. May their lives be filled with joy, blessings, and devotion to one another at all times.

in photos: Anna Talvi & Andrew Blick
Karen Bonnevie & Ilkka Talvi
Sonja, Ilkka and Marjorie Talvi, Donald Lehti & Fran Kransberg

A Lesson From Marylou

2009-11-16T12:42:00.000-08:00

After reading these enlightening words of Boston Symphony violinist Marylou Speaker Churchill who passed away a few days ago, I feel at once inspired and saddened. Speaking about the work of an orchestra musician, she asked: "Is playing in an orchestra a joy or a job? It's wise to make it a joyful job, but remember that no job employs you completely. Working for money is never the real reason for doing any job. You must love what you do, and then you will find happiness and joy in your work. In actuality you are always being employed to express all the best qualities you are capable of, such as intelligence, wisdom, beauty, balance, grace, sensitivity, awareness, love..If you are miserable, it's your own fault. Make excellence, beauty, and truth your goals, and you will rise to that level."

These words, of course, have touched me. In my joyful job of teaching I can put Marylou's ideals into action, with the goal of positively influencing young people. The students I mentor are receptive to lessons, not just related to the beauty of music and art, but in the cultivation of life sustaining values. Regrettably, as I look back on my own years of orchestra playing and the politics involved, I have to admit that all it takes is one rotten egg to turn upside down the workplace, creating a hostile environment. Reading events such as this and this reminds me that orchestras can be breeding grounds for toxicity. I urge young musicians to educate themselves of the realities of a profession perceived by the public as loftier than most.

Almost three decades ago, I went on tour with the Los Angeles Philharmonic to Europe. I was twenty-one years old at the time. It was sobering to witness the players in the orchestra turn into mealy-mouthed monsters. If you wish to watch a bunch of kindergartners hurl mud in the sandbox, accompany a group of orchestra musicians backstage during the breaks, or to committee gatherings where mob mentality prevails, or on tours. It is in these instances especially, that players are reputed for launching vitriolic attacks against their colleagues. At the time of the LA Phil tour in 1981, principal violist Heiichiro Ohyama fell victim to such abuse. His colleagues instigated a revolt to have him ousted from the principal post, although Mr. Ohyama had been offered his position by none other than Music Director Carlo Maria Giulini. By renouncing the principal violist, weren't the players contesting their music director's judgment? What made them feel emboldened to do so?

You will find that guiding lights, such as violinist Marylou Speaker Churchill, are a rarity in orchestras. I'm certain that she will be missed by colleagues in Boston, and throughout the world. Hopefully, in years to come (that is if orchestras even survive) there will be more musicians like Marylou.

photo of Marylou Speaker Churchill courtesy of New England Conservatory

Unnecessary Losses

2009-11-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

In the past several days, a few of our acquaintances outside the field of music have been victims of recessionary lay-offs. With every fresh casualty, a wound reopens in my heart. I'm reminded of our own personal struggles not too long ago. I detect the strain on peoples' faces who have been cut off from their livelihood, the quickly wiped-away tears, and the look of helpless panic in their eyes. Of course, when one is a public figure, such as a concertmaster, the media swoops in to help stir the pot. A person who sits in a cubicle all day, or sells behind a shoe counter, does not have to face public scrutiny the same way as an artist on stage. Perhaps one can sell shoes elsewhere, or work for another tech firm, but to start life anew as a concert artist is pretty tough, especially in the over fifty age group. I seem to recall the labor lawyers during a mediation session innocently asking my husband, "What about other orchestras in the area? Can't you just make a switch?"

At that time, I served as concertmaster for the Northwest Chamber Orchestra, but with only thirty to forty services per year, that could hardly have been considered full-time employment. Besides, NWCO folded a few months later. And yet, during my twenty something years with the group, although the chamber orchestra offered a generous health insurance package and other benefits, my coworkers would routinely opt out of rehearsals and performances whenever more lucrative engagements came their way, costing the organization additional expenses in the hiring of extras. Loyalty didn't exist. When the subject of a tour to Finland was put on the negotiating table, these same individuals, perhaps expecting a Daddy Warbucks to step in and offer unlimited sponsorship, made unreasonable demands for per diem rates, and derailed the entire tour. With the unnecessary loss of the tour, there went the entire organization.

There is a heartbreaking video of Honolulu Symphony musicians in their continued struggle for survival. The players are owed months of back pay, and face the potential of bankruptcy filing this week. Whenever I hear about fellow musicians being forced to eat through their savings, it acts as a trigger, like post-traumatic stress. Honolulu Symphony experienced a turnover of more than a quarter of its musicians as a result of the back pay issue, according to Local 677 of the American Federation of Musicians. I ask you, dear readers, what will this country do with all its unemployed and under-employed artists?

Opus

2009-10-31T19:24:00.000-07:00

So, I attended Seattle Repertory Theater's first preview last evening of Opus, Michael Hollinger's play about a highly neurotic and dysfunctional string quartet. I suspected the story of Opus to be partly inspired by the break up of the Audubon String Quartet. Anyone who idealizes the so-called privileged life of a quartet player might treat themselves to one of these performances, although if you're a musician, it's annoying to find that the roles are played by non-musicians. You'd think there would be actors also trained as instrumentalists, and thus able to portray the characters in a realistic manner. Adding to the lack of hand movements over the violin, viola and cello fingerboards was the consistent mispronunciation of Concertgebouw, one of Europe's most famous concert halls. The quartet used tacky black binders, like the sort you find at school orchestras, rather than actual music scores propped on their wire rimmed stands, and the sound system had minor glitches. But, like the first violinist of the fictitious Lazara String Quartet, played by Allen Fitzpatrick, maybe I'm being uptight.

There were some fine moments of comic relief, and the Lazara Quartet portrayed the idiosyncrasies of their counterparts with flare. My favorite character is Dorian, the squishy violist with endearing issues, played by Todd Jefferson Moore. Dorian and first violinist Elliott have suffered a tumultuous romantic break-up, though Dorian still wears Elliott's underwear. The quartet infighting continues, with finger pointing and a blame game over dynamics and intonation. Divo Elliott suffers a meltdown after being criticized and storms out of a recording session of Beethoven Opus 131.

Dorian, now off his meds and in full-blown mania, is replaced by young pretty Grace (actress Chelsea Rives) for a performance at the White House. Dorian and Elliott's parting of the ways has resulted in Dorian's having to return his precious viola to the quartet. Grace now has the coveted instrument under her dainty chin. (Heart breaking, huh?) Alan, the shlumpy-looking second violinist (Shawn Belyea), does more than make eye contact with blond, doe-eyed Grace. Cellist Carl (Charles Leggett), with troubles of his own, eats enough for the whole quartet. As art mirrors life, there's a nice twist in the final scene.

Tosca for Today

2009-10-28T23:57:00.000-07:00

Any conscientious string player strives for a bel canto style and the naturalness of phrase that characterizes great singing. The Heifetz protege and my beloved violin teacher, Erick Friedman, would encourage all his students to learn from singers and pianists for secrets of interpretation. My personal exposure to singing has essentially been while playing in the pit as an orchestra player. Sadly, one of my most vivid recollections, before I was blacklisted from the local opera orchestra, was performing "Carmen" and being forced to endure, as a stand partner, a violinist with loose lips who pointed to the stage during lengthy bars of rest and laughed. "How could anyone be seduced by that fatso? That's Carmen? I can feel the stage shake with every step she takes—"

To replace those regrettable memories, and enrich my life with a meaningful operatic experience, I now attend Metropolitan Opera at the movies. Peter Gelb, general manager of the Met, has been criticized for pandering to audiences but I detect the genetic genius of a Heifetz. "Classical music used to be pop music," says Gelb, and indeed, his maternal great-uncle Jascha Heifetz composed light, popular songs under the pen-name Jim Hoyle, as in one such song: When you make love to me, don't make me believe. During the Great Depression and war years, Gelb's great-uncle Heifetz composed numerous contemporary tunes in keeping with the times. Gelb states that his commitment to the art form is to revitalize opera and make it accessible to the general public; I have no doubt that he's on the right path. I'll bet other opera company general directors are kicking themselves. But then, even if others chose to offer live simulcasts on the big screen, how many companies could compete with the Met?

In the recent production of Puccini's "Tosca", Gelb boldly replaces the definitive Franco Zeffirelli production with a lean version by Swiss director Luc Bondy. Although this interpretation of "Tosca" got a thumbs down from those resistant to change after 25 years of Zefirelli, Bondy makes an honest attempt to emphasize the "true essence of character" through the device of theatrical realism. In the words of Gelb, Bondy's Tosca demonstrates that "our art is not locked in the past."

Puccini's tragic heroine was played by the tremendously beautiful Finnish soprano Karita Mattila. She has been one of the most prominent singers at the Met for more than a decade. Baritone George Gagnidze made his second Met appearance, this time as the evil police chief Scarpia. With Gagnidze's splendid intensity and depth of voice, he suits the part of the despised Scarpia to perfection. In the "Te Deum" scene, I was spell-bound by Scarpia's eyes, crazed and wild; he reminded me of a raving music director from my past; close up at the theater, one can even spot drool on Scarpia's lips as he lusts after Tosca. The role of Tosca's doomed lover, Cavaradossi, was superbly sung by the passionate Marcelo Alvarez, a self-proclaimed Romantic. He has been hailed as a Puccini tenor by The New York Times.

The orchestra, under the direction of Joseph Colaneri, played so rapturously throughout the production that during magic moments, all I needed to do was close my eyes and enjoy.

In pictures: Heifetz, Gelb, Tosca's original poster

Birthday Finnish Style

2009-10-23T10:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my husband's birthday, and we celebrated in typical somber fashion. The mentality of "one is born, suffers, and dies" was so palpable in our home that it felt as if a dark cloud had sunk its way into our living quarters. We began the morning with coffee, cards, and gifts. Sarah, our youngest, creates hand-made birthday books with beautiful photographs of treasured moments from our past, messages of hope and love, and poems flowing with words that caress and soothe. Anna, our soon to be betrothed daughter, gave her father a Jewish Zodiac shirt. It turns out that Ilkka, born in 1948, is the Year of the Bagel. The shirt reads: You're pliable and always bounce back, although you feel something's missing in your center. If this persists, get some therapy. Compatible with Schmear and Lox, Latke and Knish, not so much.

I had struggled with what to give my husband for a birthday gift for days, and finally settled on basic necessities: two pairs of corduroy pants, as replacement for the threadbare ones which Seymour, our cat, likes to use as scratching posts when they cover his daddy's legs. I bought my husband yet another olive-green shirt, having forgotten that I bought this same shirt three years in a row. And underwear. Here I confess, I was daunted by the various styles. Boxers, Briefs, or Boxer Briefs? As I held the package of Jockey Boxer Briefs in hues of gray and navy blue, I had a fleeting image of my husband in his late thirties and early forties, and while debating whether or not to purchase the underwear, recalled how jealous I felt whenever women in love with him would try and snatch my husband away. One lovesick string player even climbed the pear tree in our backyard to catch a glimpse of him, just to make certain he was alone in the house!

After dinner, which had consisted of a steaming bowl of cabbage soup (as in our late years chewing may become increasingly difficult) and plateful of home-made cookies by two of Ilkka's precious students, the phone rang. An unknown number was displayed on the caller I.D. I picked up. The voice of a renown investigative journalist, in cryptic style, reported the name of the person, a big-wig from the Eastside, who might be responsible for having at one time, but unsuccessfully, removed our blog posts from all search engines, beginning with my obituary on the late Mark Paben. This message was followed by a hang up and dial tone; birthday Finnish style, indeed.

The Rise Of The Peoples' Orchestra

2009-10-16T13:21:00.000-07:00

It's been interesting to find messages alerting Talvi Studio of new, exciting community orchestra opportunities in our Inbox, requesting advanced students. These community orchestras are mushrooming throughout the Seattle region. Perhaps this is the direction future ensembles will take, if one speculates on how "unsustainable" the professional arts business model has become. If you're like me, you're probably sick and tired of the term "unsustainable business model" which is frequently tossed about by vapid, arrogant executives, but without innovative or cogent solutions for viability. Hence, these creative enterprises. Take, for example, Seattle Metropolitan Chamber Orchestra. What happens when you invite young, enthusiastic instrumentalists to become active participants in the creation process? What if you present solo and chamber music opportunities as a means to entice and keep capable string players? What if you offer remuneration for conductor and musicians alike based on audience interest and support?

The best instrumentalists have at least one thing in common: they need to maintain their skill level before atrophy sets in. I think one of the worst things a talented player can do is mope around and bemoan the fact that gigs are drying up. Seek and you shall find, and be creative. But FYI, I'll bet you're making the pros nervous, as you might just stumble into sustainability.

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a rehearsal for Lake Union Civic Orchestra. There, two of our phenomenal students were hard at work, delving into the Brahms Violin Concerto in a spirited atmosphere of congeniality and open-mindedness. I didn't spot any musicians glancing at their watches, or kvetching during the half-time about labor contracts. Because, you see, there aren't collective bargaining agreements to kvetch about. The players participating are there because they wish to be there, honing their skills, learning through volunteerism, like any other craft. And, not surprising, given their training and enthusiasm, these young people offer their professional counterparts competition due to their consistent, high level. Sometimes, in a community setting, you find more seasoned players who have been beleaguered, under-valued, and rejected by their so-called peers. Thus, a fine community orchestra might provide a second chance, like Rainier Symphony does for me. (By the way, you have no idea what a difference it makes to perform Stravinsky's Firebird Suite without a Thumper.)

It'll be interesting to observe how these community orchestras develop. As more well-trained individuals emerge from conservatories and universities with skills superior to their "professional" counterparts who are often in their declining years, and plagued by delusions of grandeur, paranoia, and entitlement (we won't mention any names here, but let's just say, they've got tenure and if on leave can return to work at any time), these burgeoning groups might just take over and hopefully, thrive. To top it off, the once feared, full-of-himself music critic has practically vanished like the phonograph. We have now the peoples' reviews.

In Search Of Lost Time

2009-09-24T17:23:00.000-07:00

Marcel Proust's Open Sesame and the magic lantern seem to have taken effect. While stepping into "In Search Of Lost Time" I discovered a sort of kindred spirit and guide in the voice of Proust. I picked up my first volume "Swann In Love" over this summer when I was struck by a longing to play Wagner's "Ring Cycle". Although I had sent a personal letter to the general director reminding him of my past contributions to the first violin section in previous cycles, practically begging for mercy from retaliatory behavior by the local snobs, I found myself one of many rejected artists, denied and dispossessed. I tried to be sympathetic to the general director, since he had, years ago in our house, claimed not to have understood what a concertmaster's role is, although himself a former music critic. His orders had come from above; from the dark gods, and he didn't have the spine of bendable zirconium like say, Peter Gelb.

I ordered a Proust 6-pack after perusing Alain de Botton's "How Proust Can Change Your Life" and decided, right then and there, to succumb to the thousands of pages. Envisioning "In Search of Lost Time" as a sort of replacement for playing excruciatingly long, sinuous Wagnerian phrases—what notes are to music, words are to prose—I was not mistaken. Every Gospel-like page that I turn, transports me to salons from my past where local braggarts compared stock market successes and flaunted Bar and Bat Mitvah parties. As a music librarian once asked: What do you give the thirteen-year-old child who already has the moon?

As you can see, I get a bit worked up over what must seem like tit-for-tat. It's the Jewish New Year. I'll begin with a fresh tradition. Proust owned a theatre-phone on which he used to listen to live performances. Metropolitan Opera at the Movies will become my new tradition, which hopefully guarantees a snob-free zone featuring first-rate productions, by truly world class singers and orchestra musicians, like oboist Nathan Hughes. No hearing aids or opera glasses needed. Popcorn?

Golden Birthday

2009-09-18T10:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we celebrated our daughter Sarah's golden birthday. We began by offering gifts of the spirit, for although Sarah is age seventeen, she is, I'm convinced, an old soul. A few hours after she was born, I fell asleep with her by my side, and found that the gentleness of her presence calmed and soothed me. It has been that way ever since.

When my mother lay dying in the critical care unit of Harborview, Sarah, then age 12, stood close by her grandmother's bed, stroking my mother's face with her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks, but firm in her conviction that my mother would forever remain with us. The youngest child of two artists, Sarah has sensed the sorrow of dreams gone awry, but has taught us, by thoughtful words and actions, to perceive each day as a blessing; each day another opportunity to try to improve life's ills. Every Sunday, after she volunteers her afternoons for patients at Children's Hospital, she calmly tells us that to go outdoors and bask in the delights of nature is a privilege not to be taken lightly, as is a bike ride, a swim in the frigid waters of the Puget Sound, or a sweaty climb to the peak of Tiger Mountain. She rushes outside to greet the sunshine, rain and sometimes snow; the scent of fresh air lingering on her face and in her beautiful hair.

Sarah gathers the richness of all things sublime; she is a lover of music and poetry; a believer in the transcendent ability of the arts to transform the spirit and world; a champion of the under-privileged. Her imagination soars to faraway places and galaxies. She has taught my ears to accept different harmonies, my eyes to see beyond the physical, and though I may never quite succeed, she encourages my heart to forgive.

Special Tribute

2009-09-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of creating a blog is that you have your own media platform. So, although I was not invited to share reflections of my former colleague and collaborator, Gerard Schwarz, in the local paper, no worries; my laptop awaits. The only quote from an orchestra member was from an old flute player (one has to wonder why); I suppose it was like asking Donald Rumsfeld for his opinion of Dick Cheney.

Our paths crossed briefly in 1973, at the Tri-State Music Festival in Enid, Oklahoma. I was the featured soloist with a youth orchestra performing Saint-Saëns "Introduction & Rondo Capriccioso". Gerard Schwarz appeared as a twenty-something-year-old trumpeter with the American Brass Quintet on the same program. As happens with musicians, worlds meet and, not infrequently, collide. When I turned nineteen, lost in the commercial maelstrom known as Los Angeles, I wandered into an audition for the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra. Word had it that a young, talented trumpet player was to replace Sir Neville Marriner. He was an ambitious, well-connected brass player-turned-conductor, a fellow who appeared to want to be liked by all, and introduced himself as Jerry. His future was pledged in gold with backers rooting for him on both coasts. Schwarz and I realized that we had met years before at Tri-State, and with that revelation, we struck up an immediate rapport. My first professional contract was offered, and the new maestro placed me in the second violin section. I was raw and inexperienced in section playing, having concentrated mainly on solo repertoire. And it was in LACO that, after being reprimanded at least a hundred times for sticking out, I became enamored with the chamber orchestra literature enough to pursue this very course in years ahead, as a concertmaster for Seattle's now defunct Northwest Chamber Orchestra. Works such as Barber's Adagio, Diamond's Rounds, and Grieg's Holberg Suite sharpened my ensemble skills and led me on a whole different path to a form of what I'd describe as disciplined individuality.

My professional years in Los Angeles, and later New York, is material not for a blog entry, but a personal memoir. Suffice to say, I followed Schwarz's baton in many settings: Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra (having ascended to the first violin section after one season), Waterloo Festival, White Mountain Festival, New York Chamber Symphony, and as a regular ringer for Seattle Symphony, while my husband served as concertmaster for over twenty years. I recount Schwarz's early years, especially before wife number three, with fondness. There was a certain charm factor in his willingness to seek answers to his questions, or the invitation for healthy debate, his youthful ability to shrug off retorts from players, no matter how snippy and sarcastic. That was before he perfected the art of retaliation.

"I am forward looking," says Schwarz at this juncture in his career. And that is a good thing, because as they say in this cruel business , Gerard Schwarz's future is behind him.

Painting of Schwarz by Roy Munday

Teacher Shopping

2009-09-06T15:27:00.000-07:00

The end of summer usually brings a round of prospective violin students eager to make a switch to a new teacher. Sometimes a youngster enters the studio, violin case in hand, without any music or material, expecting me to provide an instant curriculum. A parent usually follows into the room displaying an expression which reads: Are you, perhaps, the one teacher to be entrusted to transform my wunderkind into the next Joshua Bell or Hilary Hahn?

And each potential student that I encounter, with anxious parents in tow, takes me back to my own young years. At the age of fourteen, my mother determined, as she did with anything related to musical education, that it was time to "move on". Qualified applicants for the task of guiding my violin lessons were scrutinized, with a final toss up going to Jascha Heifetz, Joseph Silverstein, and Dorothy DeLay. As it happened, Mr. Heifetz taught at USC in Los Angeles, so studies with him would have required an entire family relocation. Lessons with Ms. DeLay at Juilliard would have meant a continuation of the weekly Greyhound bus commutes from Boston to New York during the night. But Mr. Silverstein, then concertmaster of Boston Symphony, was in my backyard, so to speak. His regular appearances on WGBH television with BSO made him, in my eyes, an icon. To this day, I have a splendid memory of listening to an entire recital of his at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. As he performed the Adagio from Sonata in G Minor of J.S.Bach, I sat mesmerized by the choreography of his bushy eyebrows raising in tandem with the violin bow. So it was with great anticipation that I auditioned for Mr. Silverstein, back in 1973, at his studio in the Berkshires. I presented for him the very same Bach solo sonata movement as he had played at the Gardner Museum. My mother waited outside the studio for Mr. Silverstein's verdict. My father, who drove us everywhere in a pea-green Oldsmobile, and detested driving, went for a sanity walk to smoke a pack of cigarettes.

After the generous hour spent with Mr. Silverstein, a lesson which included valuable insight about bow technique and relaxation, he exchanged a few words with my mother. I believe Mr. Silverstein's message was that to choose to play in a professional orchestra on a par with Boston Symphony in later years, would be an ideal profession for a young woman, especially if that woman had expectations of balancing a family life with a career.

And that was Joseph Silverstein's fatal flaw with Frances Kransberg. Because, you see, my mother's daughter was not to become just an "orchestral" player, but something, in her mind, much more.

photo of Joseph Silverstein

The Gift

2009-09-03T04:46:00.000-07:00

My twelve year old student, Lev, arrived for his lesson holding an antiquated composition book of Mazurkas and Waltzes for solo violin. Gino, the composer of these compositions, awaits his 100th birthday in a small village in the mountains of Tuscany, with a longing to hear his music before he dies. Of all the treasures in Gino's life, the violin remains his dearest, though at Gino's age he can no longer play. And it is for this reason that Lev clutches the composition book written in 1930; he will gift Gino with a recording of these never performed, cherished works.

My little Lev dutifully sets the composition book onto the music stand. He opens the first page to a Mazurka. The composition is nearly impossible to decipher; ink blotches conceal many of the notes, and some others have squiggly tails for stems covering the bar lines and rhythm. "Is that note a D," I ask, "or a B?" Both tones could belong to the key. Lev plays the D. "It's this," he asserts, and repeats the phrase from beginning to end. I observe closely as my young student strokes the thin, frayed paper with care, slowly turning to the next page: Waltz. The opening measures of this Waltz have faded over time. Other notes appear to have vanished. "What's that?" I point with my bow. Lev squints. He strokes the composition book as if it's a piece of parchment of Dead Sea Scrolls. We play our violins together and try to telepathically reconstruct the score. "That's called artistic license," I say, as Lev adds a flourish to a final measure, psychically sensing his way to the end. The creation makes musical sense, and we are both satisfied.

Gino's music has taken up much of the hour; it is time to work on the beloved Mendelssohn Concerto. Lev's sound is sweet, his interpretative style, innocent; perfect for the classicism of Mendelssohn. But an occasional incorrect rhythm and wrong note stubbornly reappear week after week, like an uninvited guest. "Lev" I say. "Play for Felix the way you do for Gino, with regard for every note, as if he, too, will hear his music for the last time—as a gift."