Dubious Deals

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?