On Thursday, The Kennedy Center announced its honorees for 2015, giving America its annual gift of cultural whiplash (the above photo is an excellent example). Representing classical music will be Seiji Ozawa, longtime music director of the Boston Symphony, along with Rita Moreno, Cicely Tyson, George Lucas, Carole King and the Eagles (not a misprint).
Every December, the honorees and their guests converge on Washington for parties and the taping of the TV show, shown on CBS right before New Year’s Eve. This was always my favorite time of year when I was in the Marine Band – we would play at both the State Department and the White House celebrations, and the people watching was unbelievable. I had wonderful conversations with the great singer Joe Williams and guitarist Kenny Burrell one year, and saw many other famous artists I admired, including Carol Burnett, who did her Tarzan yell in the White House foyer.
Walter Cronkite hosted the program for many years, and was a fixture at the parties. One night at the State Department, he came over and asked our string quartet: “Do you have The Stars and Stripes?” Of course we did, and launched into it with Cronkite “conducting,” which was, well, the way it was.
At another State Department party, Clint Eastwood came around the corner with Don Rickles (it says something about our government that someone let the king of insult comedy wander around the home of American diplomacy). Rickles spotted the quartet and shouted, “Hey Clint, look – it’s the band from Titanic!”
My all-time favorite Marine Band memory came courtesy of Jack Nicholson (shown here with his fellow 2001 honorees Van Cliburn, Julie Andrews, Luciano Pavarotti and Quincy Jones) at the White House.
The party had been going for some time – in fact, it was over, and the medal ceremony was supposed to be happening. Everyone was in the East Room waiting, while only the honorees, some VIPs and nervous White House staff members remained in the hallway with us as we kept on playing. We were all waiting for Jack, for what must have been at least a half hour. I remember seeing President George W. Bush pointing at his wristwatch as he stood on the red carpet – he didn’t seem pleased.
Finally, Nicholson sauntered in, walked right past the President without saying hello, went to the bar to get a drink and walked back to join the group. As he passed the orchestra, he looked over and said “It’s all right, you don’t have to play Hail To The Chief.” Everyone broke up, with one exception, I imagine.
The Kennedy Center Honors is a very American affair, with its sometimes bewildering mix of genres and tastes. The broadcast is often fun to watch, and even inspiring. I remember seeing Yo-Yo Ma play the last movement of the Crumb Solo Sonata in honor of Mstislav Rostropovich’s award in 1992. On the other hand, when Yo-Yo got the award himself a few years ago, Elmo from Sesame Street was one of the main speakers – can’t win ’em all. Still, at least there’s one night left on commercial TV devoted to American art, and I’ll watch this year, for the people watching if nothing else. And who knows, maybe there will be something inspiring, too.
As some readers know, I spent eight years as a member of “The President’s Own” U.S. Marine Chamber Orchestra. As the name implies, I spent most of my time in uniform at the White House or in other government buildings, performing for various official gatherings. I also got to play a lot of great chamber music, as well as two concertos with orchestra, and made some great friends.
The picture above is one of my favorite moments at the White House, at a Christmas party for members of the Secret Service (the kid’s father was an agent, I believe):
Shortly after I got the job, I spoke with one of my teachers, the Danish cellist Erling Blondal Bengtsson, who was as kind and gentle a person one could ever hope to meet.
The first thing he asked me was “Do you get a gun?” When I told him no, he seemed a little disappointed. This was the first of many conversations I would have (and still have) to explain the unique and sometimes very strange job I had.
“Every Marine a rifleman” is a common expression around the Corps. Well, that’s every Marine except band members – I didn’t go to boot camp. Many people, myself included, would never have considered auditioning if spending 3 months at Parris Island were required, and I think the Marine Corps wisely decided that it wasn’t worth it.
Not everyone we encountered knew that Marine Band members were not combat trained, and it made for some surreal moments. One night, the orchestra was playing at an awards dinner for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (insert joke here).
In between handing out medals to his agents for things like shooting drug dealers and capturing arms smugglers, the bureau’s director gave a special thank you to the orchestra, because, as he put it, “You guys are the ones they send in first.” Strangely, no one corrected him, though I did suggest to my colleagues that if this came up again, the viola section should lead the way.
Many times since leaving the Band, I’ve had people thank me for my service, which can feel a little strange – I certainly don’t consider myself to have been a real Marine, given that I wasn’t trained as one, and could never have been put in a combat situation (it’s in the contract).
Though my time in uniform was pretty different from most, I did get a closer look at life in the military than most civilians do. Maybe because of this unique position, I’ve often wanted to give something back to regular service members, and recently I got a chance to – I’ve been playing at the Cincinnati VA hospital.
The Cincinnati Arts Association, in a partnership with TriHealth and ArtsWave, has begun a pilot program to put live performers into medical settings, to show that music can enhance the healing process, as well as the general well-being of patients and staff.
I’m playing in the Treatment, Recovery and Activity Center, known as the TRAC (the VA, like the Pentagon, likes its acronyms). This part of the hospital offers group and individual therapy, as well as sessions designed to help vets re-adjust to civilian life and deal with post-traumatic stress.
It’s early, so there isn’t any data yet, but I’m sure the music’s having a positive effect – many of the vets I’ve met seem to really enjoy hearing Bach while they are at the clinic, and the staff does too. Here they are – from left, Brian Smith, Cincinnati Arts Association’s Director of Education and Community Relations Joyce Bonomini, Mark Hilt and Dr. Nalda Gordon.
The other day, I had a nice chat with a Navy vet in his sixties, who was in a wheelchair. He told me hearing the cello reminded him how much he missed his guitar playing, which he had to give up several years ago after an injury to his left hand. I reminded him about a great program called Guitars for Vets, which may be able to find him a left-handed guitar and some lessons, so he can get back to it. I hope he does – just talking about his playing made him come alive.
Anyone who has followed the news in recent years knows that the VA has had more than its share of troubles, and it feels good to bring great music into a setting which probably needs it more than most. In addition to furthering the program’s goals of promoting healing and well-being, I’m thanking the vets and the staff for their service, and, in a sense, continuing mine, which feels very good.
Many musicians, myself included, wear several hats, combining multiple part-time positions as performers and teachers to make a living. When I first heard about CMW ten years ago, the idea of a single place to both play chamber music and teach sounded like a dream come true. I am starting a program modeled on CMW this fall (more about that in an upcoming post), and I went to IMPS to see firsthand the model I’ve admired from afar. It was even more inspiring than I’d imagined.
The significance of CMW goes far beyond the unique balance of work for its musicians. They help create an environment in which they and their students grow as musicians, and, more importantly, as members of their community, and the results are, quite simply, breathtaking.
Sebastian Ruth started CMW in 1997, teaching 15 violin students in his neighborhood in Providence. Since then, the program has grown to include 13 resident musicians and more than 125 students. CMW’s students often perform on the same concerts as their teachers (and guest artists such as Jonathan Biss and the Kronos Quartet), in settings that foster connection between audience and performers.
Sebastian is influenced by the work of philosopher Maxine Greene, who wrote of the need for education that enables students to see new possibilities for themselves and effect social change, and it is in this regard that CMW shines brightest. The IMPS participants met and played music with some of the students in Phase 2, CMW’s teen leadership program, and, frankly, I was floored by these kids.
To hear 14 year-olds speak so thoughtfully about their place in the world was a profoundly moving experience, and spoke volumes about the impact and importance of CMW.
I remember the relationships I had with my teachers and colleagues as a young musician, and they continue to be some of the most important I have had in my life. I didn’t, however, have anything like the sense of purpose and place that CMW’s students displayed this weekend – they’ve been given a great gift, and are the kinds of citizens and leaders the world needs.
CMW’s staff has devoted significant time and effort to sharing their model, through the Institute, as well as through a fellowship program for young professional musicians, several of whom have gone on to start programs of their own.
One former fellow, violist Chloe Kline, is now CMW’s Education Director, and directed the Institute with great poise and sensitivity – her ability to manage a discussion so inclusively and thoughtfully was a perfect example of the culture of CMW, and just observing her in action this weekend was a great lesson in itself.
So to Sebastian, Chloe and the rest of the CMW family, you’ve given us a powerful reminder of what music is really for, and inspired many (myself included) to follow your example – thank you and bravo!
Lately, I’ve gotten a lot of nice reminders about why I play music, and the cello in particular – this photo is exhibit A. On the right is my student Bailey, and on the left, another cellist.
Yo-Yo Ma is one of the few classical musicians everyone’s heard of, and a genuinely nice guy. Bailey asked for tickets to his recent Cincinnati performance as a birthday present, and obviously had a good time! I had a similar experience meeting him after a performance, when I was first starting to play, (redacted) years ago.
He was not yet the superstar he’s become, but already very well known, and certainly could have acted like it, but instead he spent a lot of time talking to the group of young cellists gathered backstage about Bach and practice habits – he was incredibly gracious and engaging, and completely content to talk about what he loved as long as anyone wanted to.
Years later, I was playing in a chamber ensemble at the entrance for my first White House state dinner. Yo-Yo snuck up on me, waiting for me to look up from my music and see he was there. When I finally did, we both burst out laughing.
Anyone who’s spent time around cellists knows we’re all sharers – we will sit and talk about the cello all night, often to the despair of concert organizers, flight attendants, and spouses.
Cellists also tend to believe in the essential goodness of what we do, and organize events to share it more widely. I play cello quartets regularly with my colleagues in ProMusica – it’s one of my favorite ways to make music. Most of the music we play was originally written for orchestra or other instruments – I often joke that we’re playing “improvements” rather than arrangements. Most instruments don’t lend themselves to this kind of ensemble – try to imagine for a minute a violin quartet concert (shudder).
I think we cellists see ourselves as public servants – that our playing our instrument can uplift and transform any location or situation – in that vein, last week, I started playing in a medical center, which I’ll write about in a future post. In the meantime, here are a few more examples of cellists trying to improve things in our impractical, idealistic way.
Vedran Smajlović, the “cellist of Sarajevo,” playing in the ruins of that city’s National Library:
A group of 1,000 cellists performing in Sendai, Japan to support victims of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami:
Iraqi cellist Karim Wasfi, playing in front of a just-bombed Baghdad hotel:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tyDtGAGoqI&w=550
Speaking of sharing, I am off today to the Institute for Musicianship and Public Service, at Community MusicWorks in Providence, RI, to learn more about becoming a true community musician – more posts about that (and my plans to build on it in Cincinnati this fall) soon.
The partnership, viewed with unease at first by both the orchestra and the community, has been a great success. Kids and the musicians have lunch together, and the students come to rehearsals, sitting in between the musicians. There’s even been some collaboration:
The BBC article about the Bremen experiment points out the most compelling reason to do things like this: “the school’s test results have improved, its drop-out rates have fallen to less than 1% and the atmosphere in the wider neighbourhood has been ‘transformed.’ ”
In other words, simply by being there, the Kammerphilharmonie has improved the school and its neighborhood. What if every orchestra did something like this?
Now, cramming the entire Chicago Symphony into a high school gym to rehearse might not be such a great idea, but what about smaller orchestras (like ProMusica, for example)? We sometimes rehearse away from our home hall – why not rehearse at KIPP Academy once in a while, or spend a whole week there?
Another example of an orchestra strengthening its connection to the community comes this week from the Houston Symphony, which has created four new full-time positions for string players who will play about 25 performances a year, but whose primary role will be “community engagement and music education in area schools, neighborhood centers and health-care facilities.”
The article goes on to say: “The symphony is seeking musicians with varied ethnic backgrounds and who are fluent in at least two languages.” Orchestras have long been trying to diversify both their memberships and their core audiences, with limited success – this seems like a good way to help.
This hybrid of playing and teaching is something I’d love to see expanded and replicated in every orchestra, with one important tweak – more members should do both.
Someday, I would love to see a “full-time” orchestra whose entire roster teaches as part of their job. What if part of your work as a full-time orchestra musician was to teach one day a week in the same inner city school, week after week, year after year?
I can imagine there would be resistance to this idea from some orchestra musicians, who would view it as a major change to their job description. I can’t argue that point – it would be. However, many orchestra musicians teach on the side already, and I bet the teaching part of the job could be factored into the workload in a way that didn’t raise the service count, at least not much. Maybe the dual responsibility of performing and teaching could be phased in with new hires, or offered as an option with extra pay.
I also think this would help the bottom line. All orchestras, no matter how many tickets they sell, rely heavily on contributed income to survive, and were they to become known for civic engagement on this scale, I bet they’d attract support from individual donors, corporations and foundations who may not have given them much attention before.
Most importantly, it would help orchestras to be seen as essential parts of their communities, and not just something for the rich, which, sadly, is often the image they have.
I am working on starting something combining playing and teaching myself, on a smaller scale with a string quartet in Cincinnati, and to learn more about how to go about it, next month I will be attending the Institute for Musicianship and Public Service, hosted by one of the standard bearers of community arts engagement, Community MusicWorks, in Providence, RI. I’ll post more about that soon.
Today would have been my father’s 77th birthday. He was a composer and played a big part in my musical development. We often played music together, and talked about music (along with baseball and politics), from when I was in elementary school until he passed away three-plus years ago. I miss him terribly.
My dad wrote works for various instrumentation from chamber works to pieces for full orchestra – my favorite, of course, is the one he wrote for me, which my wife and I recorded for his Albany Records CD, released in 2006. It’s a perfect example of his musical style, which I once described as both intense and subtle. Here’s an excerpt:
You can hear the entire piece here, and learn more about my dad and his music at his website.
Classical music has long been a family business, from the Bachs and Mozarts to more modern examples like Sergei Prokofiev and his grandson Gabriel. I wrote about one of Gabriel’s works in a previous post – sometimes the apple falls a little farther from the tree!
Recently, I was reminded of the extra power music has when it’s inspired by the closeness of family.
Dmitri Shostakovich was known for music that reflected his difficult life in Soviet Russia – nearly all of his works contain sarcasm and harsh writing. However, I recently was exposed to a different side of Shostakovich, in his 2nd Piano Concerto. The piece was written for his son, Maxim, for his 19th birthday, and Maxim performed the solo part at his graduation from the Moscow Conservatory.
Last month, I played this piece with ProMusica Chamber Orchestra. The excellent soloist was pianist/composer Huw Watkins, who has a family musical connection of his own – his brother Paul is the cellist in the Emerson String Quartet. They have recorded several cello-piano works including Huw’s own – you can learn more here.
Our music director, David Danzmayer, reminded us in rehearsal of the story behind the concerto as we rehearsed the slow movement, which sounds nothing like any Shostakovich I’d ever heard. The directness and love expressed in this piece can’t be missed, and it sounds in places like Rachmaninoff:
There are lots more examples of music inspired by the closeness of family, and I’ve put a few of them on a new Spotify playlist, including my dad’s cello-piano piece and a song cycle he dedicated to my mom. As usual, it’s open to additions from you – please add your favorite piece of music that has a family connection!
In closing, I’ll share one more, that was a particular favorite of my dad’s. He was a jazz musician early on, and passed on to me a love for Charlie Parker and Oscar Peterson. One of our favorite groups was the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Band. I remember going to see them at the Village Vanguard when I was about 12 – how he got me into a place like that at that age is beyond me, but it was incredible.
Here’s Thad Jones’s best-known tune, whose title says it all: “A Child Is Born.”
