When I am asked what I am doing with music, I invariably must pause. As a nineteen-year-old violinist enrolled in conservatory, I am over the hill by soloist standards. Since Midori in the eighties — really, since Mozart in the (seventeen) fifties — there has been a fascination with the child prodigy that for many musicians over the age of twelve presents a real dilemma. I know at this point I will most likely not be the next Hilary Hahn. At my age, she had already hit the international scene and was well into her career as concert soloist. If I had any desire to be an internationally acclaimed soloist, I might as well have thrown in the towel five years ago.
So when I answer that I really would love to play chamber music or be a member of an orchestra, and get the invariable non-committal response or blank stare, I am not too put off. I tell myself, well, they will understand, eventually. It would give me no end of pleasure for the average Joe to come up to me after a performance and say “Nice substitution fingering there in the second movement,” or “Was that down-bow staccato in the finale?” instead of “OK, so what’s the difference between a violin and a viola?” Notwithstanding the vagaries of violin virtuosity (an obscure topic at best), it seems that the general musical knowledge among the public has atrophied in the past hundred or so years, due in part to the increasing marginalization of basic musical training in schools but also to the attitude of many classical musicians today.
There is this misplaced notion (I can only speak for myself as a violinist, where this attitude is rampant) that playing in an orchestra is somehow degrading. Or that playing in any sort of ensemble is indicative of some artistic failure. In high school I spent a year at the Pre-College Division of the Juilliard School, and even at that age, orchestra was seen as a chore or at best boring. I cannot fathom how this attitude persists when some of the best musicians around play in — and some of the most transcendent music is scored for — symphony orchestra.
One of the most profound artistic experiences in my musical life so far involved playing in an orchestra. This past winter, I spent nine days in New York City as a member of the New York String Orchestra Seminar. The Seminar, started by the late Alexander Schneider of the Budapest Quartet, is a wonderful opportunity for young musicians from across the country to come together to study intensely and perform two concerts at Carnegie Hall under the baton of current director Jaime Laredo. All members receive a full scholarship and are housed and fed by the Seminar. This year, we stayed at the Wellington Hotel (which made a cameo appearance in the movie Borat).
The orchestra, which, despite the name, also includes brass, winds, and percussion, rehearsed six hours a day at Riverside Church and the Manhattan School of Music. I have never been so joyfully exhausted in my life! In that time, we learned so much about the symphonic literature, how to rehearse efficiently, how not only to accompany a soloist but to accentuate their part, and besides other technical aspects, how to enjoy working together as a group. We were also placed into chamber ensembles which rehearsed an additional three hours a day. I was part of a string quartet that played Schubert’s “Quartettsatz,” (a gem of a piece and impossible to play), and we were fortunate to be coached by members of the Emerson and Guarneri Quartets.
The final concerts were played to packed halls — the first, a program entirely of Mozart, the second featuring “Made in America,” a new work by Joan Tower, Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony, and the First Piano Concerto of Brahms, graced by Leon Fleischer at the keys. It gave me great pleasure to play with such musical gods. Being even a small part of the experience was heady enough; who needs to be the center of the action?
A violinist is blessed with an abundance of literature from which to carve a path as a soloist. Imagine being a bassoonist, or even a violist, who can count their virtuosic masterpieces on one hand. But in truth the violin isn’t that much different. Of all the flashy literature out there, you could probably count the really great violin concertos on maybe two hands, and throw in a foot for the Mozart concertos, which are all gems. Fifteen concertos, you say? That’s it? I cannot imagine having to go on tour and playing the same damned piece eighteen-gazillion times — and not going out of my mind.
As a violinist, I have also been blessed with the sumptuous canon of string quartet literature, from the Grandfather of the classical period, Haydn, through Mozart, Beethoven, and on to Bartók, Shostakovitch, et al. Not to mention the other combinations of string instruments — and sure, why not add a piano? Chamber music has so many forms and so much to say with so few voices. Perhaps it is because of its intimate nature that so many composers’ best works are written for chamber ensemble. Coupled with the great legacy of symphonic literature, how could you go wrong?
Well, it is possible. My freshman year at the Cleveland Institute of Music was a failed chamber music experience. During second semester, there was a grand plan afoot to form a string sextet. After playing in various string quartets for years, I knew how hard it was to get even four people to agree to a schedule, but six people was more than a stretch. For this and other reasons, among them injury and personality clashes, the project fell apart. I was left with a trio, which continued out the rest of the semester.
But the three of us worked so well together that we decided to form a quartet for my sophomore year. After happening upon the perfect first violinist, we eventually joined the Intensive Quartet Seminar at CIM, a program run by the Cavani Quartet and Peter Salaff, founding member of the Cleveland Quartet. Given our less than auspicious beginnings, we were delighted when, after driving a grand total of twenty-two hours — to New Haven, Connecticut for a live audition, then back to Cleveland, Ohio — we were invited to join the Norfolk Chamber Music Festival to work with the Tokyo and Vermeer String Quartets.
I hope that this summer will prove that my instincts are correct: that a life in orchestral and chamber music is feasible and rewarding. It has proven so thus far, and while it has certainly not been a walk in the park, it has made me appreciate the love and dedication that goes into making transcendent music.
