I was recently asked to be a featured artist in a publication. I needed to answer the following questions:
1) What or who inspired you to want to be an artist?
2) What was was your creative journey that has brought you to where you are in your career today?
3) What do you need as an artist today?
4) What creative project are you working on now?
5) Where do you see yourself and your career in 10 years?
6) What does it mean to you to be an Israeli artist?
7) What does it mean to you to have an organization like AICF available in the art world?
This is what came out:
1) Looking back, trying to re-live those early days when music became an integral part of my life, it was my late grandfather who first opened the door for me into the world of music. I was always drawn to interesting, multi-faceted people. My late grandfather was such a person – a painter, an accomplished violinist as well as a pianist, and a great actor who could impersonate Charlie Chaplin brilliantly. In other words, he was an artist in the true sense of the word. Every minute with him was filled with music and stories. Many of the stories were of survival during World War II. Throughout my life, the people that inspired me where the ones that were multi talented, larger than life, charismatic figures. Another such person was the composer / violinist / author and educator Ben Zion Orgad, to be further elaborated later on.
2) The creative journey that brought me to where I am right now involved on the one hand events, while on the other hand people that I met. When I was 17 years old I heard a concert in which Zubin Mehta conducted young soloists. I was so moved by the whole event. It energized me with tremendous ambition to be the next young soloist that the maestro will invite. That manifested itself in my commitment to practice harder every day. The following year I got my wish.
In the earlier question I mentioned Ben Zion Orgad – together with Leon Fleisher, both figures shaped my musical thinking enormously. When Ben Zion Orgad gave me his newest piano piece, a Toccata, asking me to add all the dynamic and interpretative markings, he elevated my level of awareness of what I do and why, to levels that I did not experience before. And when Leon Fleisher asked me to “direct his ear to what he should listen for”, before I played for him, whether it was Schubert or Chopin, he taught me to teach myself.
3) There are many things that I feel I need as an artist: My family and my friends above all – my support team. I also need time – time to explore, to ask questions, to succeed as well as to fail. I need peace and quiet that allows me to concentrate. I need “Godot” – something that constantly challenges and stimulates me to wake up the next day and run to the piano. I need to see a good play, a good movie, take a beautiful scenic road… and oh, I almost forgot, I also need a glass of red wine with a few lamb chops.
4) One of the creative projects that I am working on right now deals with creating a mega work out of two enigmatic monumental works. One of the most important, yet difficult to understand, solo pieces of the 19-century is the 24 preludes by Chopin. Even Schumann’s review of this work was quite elusive in its praise. I am in the process of inserting into these 24 jewels the 11 miniatures called ‘Musica Ricercata’ by the 20-century composer Gyorgy Ligeti. I strongly believe that music makes infinite number of connections, just like our brain. The juxtaposition of the raw passion of Chopin with the somewhat “scientific” passion of Ligeti fascinates me, and I hope will shed new light on the essence of these wonderful works. I am also working on another project - to record the two Mendelssohn concerti with the Israeli Chamber Orchestra and the wonderful conductor Yoav Talmi.
5) During the past year two major trips - one to China and the other to Guatemala - shaken my musical journey to the core. In both cases children where involved. In China, witnessing in each concert I gave the attendance of hundreds of kids was absolutely incredible. In Guatemala I was introduced to the "Il Systema" program, which takes children from poor areas and give them a sense of purpose, a sense of identity and pride through a classical music program ages four till twenty. This daily program (five hours each day) includes singing, building instruments, playing them and ultimately performing in the children’s neighborhoods. I hope that in ten years my career will somehow be linked with these sorts of inspiring experiences, all of which are connected with education through music.
6) An Israeli artist is an ambassador! This is a great responsibility, which I embrace with all my heart. It is a responsibility to show the immense creative power that emerges and is cultivated in the land of Israel. Once, following a concert with the Rhode Island Philharmonic orchestra I was asked to shed light on the possible reasons that despite constant security issues and existential threats Israel is still able to produce so many wonderful artists. My answer was that perhaps this is our way to bring sanity and hope to an otherwise a very sad situation. Maybe it is a retreat. We need that and you need that. Together, with the help of Beethoven and Brahms we will succeed.
7) To have the America Israel Cultural Foundation in the art world means first and foremost to have a family – one that gives you the love and support you need as well as the faith that you can fulfill your potential. The AICF is also a hub for ideas to explore, for friendships to make and for opportunities, which you are given. It is also a place with experience that will always be happy to share an advice. Combining all that together for over seventy years, they have had a central role in the development of some of today’s most beloved and successful artists. I have the privilege to say that I belong to this family.
Alon Goldstein
Monday, January 9, 2012
Monday, October 31, 2011
A Pianistic Paradox
The art of playing the piano involves quite a strange paradox.
In our pursuit of creating a beautiful horizontal singing line we have to make vertical movements!
Pressing keys down seem to me such an unnatural movement in an attempt to create anything horizontal...
The legendary pianist Artur Schnabel in his quest to reconcile this asserted that "vertical is not only going from up to down. It is also going down up."
Indeed we press keys down. However, the overall motion must be upward - the palm, the wrist, the torso, and above all our concept of sound. This must go up!
Would that be enough to achieve the sense of a horizontal line?
Well, perhaps some talent to support this might help.
Alon Goldstein
In our pursuit of creating a beautiful horizontal singing line we have to make vertical movements!
Pressing keys down seem to me such an unnatural movement in an attempt to create anything horizontal...
The legendary pianist Artur Schnabel in his quest to reconcile this asserted that "vertical is not only going from up to down. It is also going down up."
Indeed we press keys down. However, the overall motion must be upward - the palm, the wrist, the torso, and above all our concept of sound. This must go up!
Would that be enough to achieve the sense of a horizontal line?
Well, perhaps some talent to support this might help.
Alon Goldstein
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Knowing the story - a friend or foe
At a recent concert in Frederick, MD I decided to experiment with the importance of sharing the story of a piece with the audience. We are living in an era where we need to be told what to listen for and what to expect. We cannot decide that for ourselves. Furthermore, this is an age where knowing which coffee Beethoven was drinking while he wrote his late string quartets is of highest importance. It will help us "understand" these pieces. Perhaps the better question here is what was he smoking...
Program notes these days are full of dry trivia points as well as anecdotes and stories about the pieces, most of which are superfluous. What's entirely missing are the tools given to the listener so he can make an internal dialogue with the music - one soul to another.
One of the pieces in my program was from Maurice Ravel's stupendous cycle called "Miroirs" (Reflections). The story, which I told the audience, had one major (or minor) problem, which I was wondering if someone would address, including the present reader of this blog.
This extraordinary tone poem is the impressionistic realization of the famous Goethe song "Erlkönig" - the devastating story of a young boy who is riding with his father on a horse through a dark forest. The boy cries for help when he sees the evil spirit of the Erlkönig. The latter tries to seduce the boy and ultimately steal his soul.
In Ravel's hands this frightening poem turns into a sensuous impressionistic tapestry - a mother is putting her little boy to sleep. She is singing to him the sweetest, most relaxing Lullaby. The boy who is afraid of bad dreams tells the mother of a demon that comes to him in the dream and asks him to follow. The little boy is filled with fear that if he follows he shall never return.
The music caresses the story - it carries it through the boy's emotional upheavals while the mother is sitting by his bedside singing. The sweet dream gradually becomes dark and menacing. The music changes its color. I posed a question to the audience - "Was the boy taken by the demon at the end of this eight minute piece, or would he wake up?"
I played through the piece and received a very warm applause mixed with appreciation. After all, this somewhat modern composition could not have been "understood" had I not mentioned the story. Most of the audience also participated in the questionnaire and said that in their opinion the boy would wake up.
Wonderful! All is working according to my plan! Well, it is more according to the late Leonard Bernstein's plan that did a similar thing in one of his legendary Young People's Concerts.
I then revealed to the audience the major problem (or minor) that my story had: It was definitely NOT Ravel's story! Actually, I can guarantee it had absolutely nothing to do with what Ravel was thinking. Ravel gave this piece a name: "A boat on the Ocean".
Now, was I wrong? Everyone followed the music. They all were so happy. The music certainly supported my made-up story.
Ravel's name is definitely the right one for the piece, but I don't think I was wrong with my story. It worked.
Most pieces do not have names by the composer, simply a number - Sonata number 1, 2, 3 or Symphony no. 4, 5, 6...
In such cases one can really let his imagination soar and come up with what might even seem absurd. In this particular piece by Ravel the given name should not "explain" the piece, but rather open the mind to the infinite possibilities of one's individual dialogue with this beautiful music. Perhaps next time I will follow along with a story about another demon... that of "Loreley" the beautiful water-nymph who sing to the men so they will follow her into the deep ocean.
I will sing to my audience...
Alon Goldstein
Program notes these days are full of dry trivia points as well as anecdotes and stories about the pieces, most of which are superfluous. What's entirely missing are the tools given to the listener so he can make an internal dialogue with the music - one soul to another.
One of the pieces in my program was from Maurice Ravel's stupendous cycle called "Miroirs" (Reflections). The story, which I told the audience, had one major (or minor) problem, which I was wondering if someone would address, including the present reader of this blog.
This extraordinary tone poem is the impressionistic realization of the famous Goethe song "Erlkönig" - the devastating story of a young boy who is riding with his father on a horse through a dark forest. The boy cries for help when he sees the evil spirit of the Erlkönig. The latter tries to seduce the boy and ultimately steal his soul.
In Ravel's hands this frightening poem turns into a sensuous impressionistic tapestry - a mother is putting her little boy to sleep. She is singing to him the sweetest, most relaxing Lullaby. The boy who is afraid of bad dreams tells the mother of a demon that comes to him in the dream and asks him to follow. The little boy is filled with fear that if he follows he shall never return.
The music caresses the story - it carries it through the boy's emotional upheavals while the mother is sitting by his bedside singing. The sweet dream gradually becomes dark and menacing. The music changes its color. I posed a question to the audience - "Was the boy taken by the demon at the end of this eight minute piece, or would he wake up?"
I played through the piece and received a very warm applause mixed with appreciation. After all, this somewhat modern composition could not have been "understood" had I not mentioned the story. Most of the audience also participated in the questionnaire and said that in their opinion the boy would wake up.
Wonderful! All is working according to my plan! Well, it is more according to the late Leonard Bernstein's plan that did a similar thing in one of his legendary Young People's Concerts.
I then revealed to the audience the major problem (or minor) that my story had: It was definitely NOT Ravel's story! Actually, I can guarantee it had absolutely nothing to do with what Ravel was thinking. Ravel gave this piece a name: "A boat on the Ocean".
Now, was I wrong? Everyone followed the music. They all were so happy. The music certainly supported my made-up story.
Ravel's name is definitely the right one for the piece, but I don't think I was wrong with my story. It worked.
Most pieces do not have names by the composer, simply a number - Sonata number 1, 2, 3 or Symphony no. 4, 5, 6...
In such cases one can really let his imagination soar and come up with what might even seem absurd. In this particular piece by Ravel the given name should not "explain" the piece, but rather open the mind to the infinite possibilities of one's individual dialogue with this beautiful music. Perhaps next time I will follow along with a story about another demon... that of "Loreley" the beautiful water-nymph who sing to the men so they will follow her into the deep ocean.
I will sing to my audience...
Alon Goldstein
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Passion (or) Innovation
Legeti's Musica Ricercata
Not long ago I played a solo recital in Chicago. On the afternoon of the concert as I approached the venue I noticed a big poster announcing the event with my name and picture underneath a big bold title "Passion and Innovation."
The program included as its focal points Beethoven's Appassionata alongside Ligeti's Musica Ricercata. Needless to say the rest of my day up to the concert was spent on trying to "figure out" which is Passion and which is Innovation.
O.K. fine, I know there are better things to do in Chicago even if one plays a concert that day, such as seeing the Chagall windows at the Arts Institute (which I did!) However, the title did throw me into tinkering with the ideas: Are all the pieces in my program Innovative? Or more broadly, does music have to be innovative? I would passionately assert: "YES!" Well, definitely my program is.
With that exclamation mark, how about passionate? Ah, now that is different. Easy with Beethoven… harder with Ligeti.
The Musica Ricercata was written between 1951 and 1953, at a time when Ligeti was searching for his own voice. He was preoccupied with re-examining tone color, rhythmic patterns and rhythmic textures. Many questions were raised: what constitutes a melody? What is structure in its rudimentary form? Does music need structure? How about tempo? Does a piece need to have a heart-beat? And dynamics?
This was obviously a musical search, but was it not also his soul searching?
Could we divide that?
Soul = Passion, right?
When learning Musica Ricercata, it is easy to find great wit, humor, complexity as well as difficulty in the fast movements, which seem to work against our normal reflexes. I would go even further in this spirit and say that these fast movements were not written for the piano. They were written "against" the piano. The constant change of meter, and accents make for very confusing strong beat–weak beat relationships. This is definitely an extension of Stravinsky and Bartok. The frequent register leaps, the abrupt dynamic changes, all are forcing the performer to concentrate on panic rather than passion! But maybe Ligeti's brain is just "wired" differently. For him, this might be the manifestation of passion.
A different thought: could it be that Ligeti was trying to take passion out of music?!
In the course of this interesting discussion with myself I suddenly became mortified. I remembered that during my studies of music history post world-war II there was a very disturbing experiment by composers such as John Cage to "take the responsibility of the performance away from the performer." This piece has SO MANY bizarre oddities, which are partially due to an INFINITE number of markings in the score – from all sorts of dynamics to exact tempo markings, to minute articulation directions and what not... Was Ligeti attempting to take me, the performer out of the equation? If I am really to follow ALL the interpretative markings which are in the score, am I not loosing my own voice, my own self?
Perhaps I need more time. Some fresh air...
NO!
Perhaps Ligeti was re-examining how far-reaching passion could go – how diverse could it be.
Looking at the slow movements for a clearer answer, my mind instead was finding new areas to explore.
The first movement basically uses ONE note! Well, no wonder we are asking ourselves about passion. What can you get out of a two minute repetition of one not? I think this is where the core of our discussion lies.
GENESIS!!
...In the beginning there was silence. And out of the silence the Big Bang - one note, a loud one! Then dynamics were created, surrounding that note with more possibilities, variety. Then different registers of the same note came to be, followed by rhythm. And within the course of two minutes, the creation of sound unfolds before our eyes and ears. Tempo and heart beat naturally evolve.
The only thing still missing is to fulfill our expectations, and resolve the note. This comes at the very last note of this movement – a new note!
Like Adam that finally got Eve as his companion and thereafter came the birth of humanity – this note got its companion and thereafter the birth of music, of melodies, of soaring and diving singing lines, of quirky and meditative rhythmic gestures, different tempi, dynamics, colors and so much more. Slowly but surely we get the evolution in the Musica Ricercata.
If this is not passion than what is?!
It is different. It is not what we expected. But it opens (o)the(r) doors of Passion.
Alon Goldstein
Not long ago I played a solo recital in Chicago. On the afternoon of the concert as I approached the venue I noticed a big poster announcing the event with my name and picture underneath a big bold title "Passion and Innovation."
The program included as its focal points Beethoven's Appassionata alongside Ligeti's Musica Ricercata. Needless to say the rest of my day up to the concert was spent on trying to "figure out" which is Passion and which is Innovation.
O.K. fine, I know there are better things to do in Chicago even if one plays a concert that day, such as seeing the Chagall windows at the Arts Institute (which I did!) However, the title did throw me into tinkering with the ideas: Are all the pieces in my program Innovative? Or more broadly, does music have to be innovative? I would passionately assert: "YES!" Well, definitely my program is.
With that exclamation mark, how about passionate? Ah, now that is different. Easy with Beethoven… harder with Ligeti.
The Musica Ricercata was written between 1951 and 1953, at a time when Ligeti was searching for his own voice. He was preoccupied with re-examining tone color, rhythmic patterns and rhythmic textures. Many questions were raised: what constitutes a melody? What is structure in its rudimentary form? Does music need structure? How about tempo? Does a piece need to have a heart-beat? And dynamics?
This was obviously a musical search, but was it not also his soul searching?
Could we divide that?
Soul = Passion, right?
When learning Musica Ricercata, it is easy to find great wit, humor, complexity as well as difficulty in the fast movements, which seem to work against our normal reflexes. I would go even further in this spirit and say that these fast movements were not written for the piano. They were written "against" the piano. The constant change of meter, and accents make for very confusing strong beat–weak beat relationships. This is definitely an extension of Stravinsky and Bartok. The frequent register leaps, the abrupt dynamic changes, all are forcing the performer to concentrate on panic rather than passion! But maybe Ligeti's brain is just "wired" differently. For him, this might be the manifestation of passion.
A different thought: could it be that Ligeti was trying to take passion out of music?!
In the course of this interesting discussion with myself I suddenly became mortified. I remembered that during my studies of music history post world-war II there was a very disturbing experiment by composers such as John Cage to "take the responsibility of the performance away from the performer." This piece has SO MANY bizarre oddities, which are partially due to an INFINITE number of markings in the score – from all sorts of dynamics to exact tempo markings, to minute articulation directions and what not... Was Ligeti attempting to take me, the performer out of the equation? If I am really to follow ALL the interpretative markings which are in the score, am I not loosing my own voice, my own self?
Perhaps I need more time. Some fresh air...
NO!
Perhaps Ligeti was re-examining how far-reaching passion could go – how diverse could it be.
Looking at the slow movements for a clearer answer, my mind instead was finding new areas to explore.
The first movement basically uses ONE note! Well, no wonder we are asking ourselves about passion. What can you get out of a two minute repetition of one not? I think this is where the core of our discussion lies.
GENESIS!!
...In the beginning there was silence. And out of the silence the Big Bang - one note, a loud one! Then dynamics were created, surrounding that note with more possibilities, variety. Then different registers of the same note came to be, followed by rhythm. And within the course of two minutes, the creation of sound unfolds before our eyes and ears. Tempo and heart beat naturally evolve.
The only thing still missing is to fulfill our expectations, and resolve the note. This comes at the very last note of this movement – a new note!
Like Adam that finally got Eve as his companion and thereafter came the birth of humanity – this note got its companion and thereafter the birth of music, of melodies, of soaring and diving singing lines, of quirky and meditative rhythmic gestures, different tempi, dynamics, colors and so much more. Slowly but surely we get the evolution in the Musica Ricercata.
If this is not passion than what is?!
It is different. It is not what we expected. But it opens (o)the(r) doors of Passion.
Alon Goldstein
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
With logic you cannot jump... you need fantasy
I just read an interview with the venerable conductor Nikolaus Harnoncourt, and wanted to share this beautiful quote:
When he was asked about one watchword (a word or phrase expressing his core belief), he replied fantasy, and went on to say that if Einstein, who played violin, had not been a musician, he would never have hit on his theory of relativity. ''Illogic is an important part of being human,'' Einstein said. ''With logic you cannot jump, you cannot make hypotheses. You need fantasy for that.''
When he was asked about one watchword (a word or phrase expressing his core belief), he replied fantasy, and went on to say that if Einstein, who played violin, had not been a musician, he would never have hit on his theory of relativity. ''Illogic is an important part of being human,'' Einstein said. ''With logic you cannot jump, you cannot make hypotheses. You need fantasy for that.''
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
EL SISTEMA (Part II)
...in a day filled with extraordinary highlights, there was still one moment that stood above others.
We had a Q & A session (the young orchestra members and I), and I was asked whether I have a favorite composer or favorite piece. Not an uncommon question for which my answer is that I spend countless number of hours with every piece before it gets to be presented on the stage, and I cannot go through such a process with a piece I would not consider as a favorite. In other words, I have no favorite piece or composer, but rather favorites!
To the principle cellist that answer did not suffice. Standing up, he asked me if I could play "something that I could identify myself with." Now that is different. With some hesitation I sat down and played the closing movement from Schumann's epic Fantasy Op. 17.
This thirteen minute slow pace meditation or perhaps a prayer, a farewell, is one of the most heartfelt pieces ever written. It goes straight into our innermost. It is music which expresses such solitude yet is all embracing. It is probably meant for just one person, whomever you want him to be. After playing it, I turned to my fellow musicians and asked for the reason for choosing this piece. The answers kept pouring.
The two answers that I will never forget came from one orchestra member who thought that this music represented "the way I would like the world to be"; the second came from Bruno, their twenty-eight year old conductor who said that while I was playing, he saw the gates of heaven opening up and beaming light shined upon us all. This reminded me what Schumann said when writing this movement: that he had "a vision of Heaven with its angels in solemn troops and sweet societies, that sing, and singing in their glory move, and wipe the tears forever from our eyes.”
I could not agree more with all that I heard.
Shortly after, a group of about fifty people came in and formed a half-a-circle behind the orchestra. At first I was not sure where they came from or why they were here. All of a sudden they started to sing Handel a-cappella, and continued with all sorts of folk songs.
This afternoon started with one climax and gathered many more along the way: the choir of four-year-old's, the nine-year-old concert mistress, the instrument restoration shop, the ten-year-old conductor, the Schumann Fantasy, the a-cappella choir, and so much more. I saw a miracle in all its glory – a new reality. Can this be real or should I look at today's newspapers to find out what is real? I have no doubt that everyone around felt they were part of something special. Through the power of music they were able to get away each day from their reality if just for a moment, and build a new one, much more hopeful.
Many mornings I wake up and spend time with a composer that through the power of music he was aiming to build a more ideal world – Beethoven. I decided to end the visit with playing the Finale from Beethoven's Sonata "Appassionata".
The orchestra made me their first honorary member. I told them that the real honor would be that next time, rather than play for each other, let us play WITH each other.
After all, they showed me what togetherness is all about.
Thank you!
Alon Goldstein (Nov. 2010)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
EL SISTEMA
O.K. so I am going through my midlife crisis. My priorities shift. What interests me is changing dramatically and what brings tears to my eyes is becoming quite different.
First it was China. Now it is Guatemala.
Following two solo recitals in Guatemala not too long ago, I visited the youth orchestra of Guatemala City, which is modeled after the Simon Bolivar orchestra of Venezuela. The now famous orchestra that has taken kids from poor villages throughout Venezuela and gave them a home, a shelter, through a life in music, has become an inspiration to many. It was my first encounter with "El Sistema" – an encounter that lasted five hours, though feels like it still goes on.
As I walk up the uneven stairway of the old abandoned post office building turned music school in the center of Guatemala City, I help my hostess Alex to carry bags of used clothes. These are for the children I am about to meet.
One thousand five hundred kids, ages four to about twenty gather here daily between 2pm and 7pm to make music (and to give meaning to their life).
My first stop was at a classroom filled with the very young children most of which are four years old, who lined up to form a choir. They began to sing for me. What joy! They were so proud.
I will never forget the little girl who looked up at me. She did not remember all the words. She was shy. She was tiny, and yet she was part of something so big - bigger than her, bigger than me. Being together, singing together gave them a sense of purpose which was extraordinary. I became very emotional, and had to hide my tears. On the left side of the choir I noticed about a dozen older kids who were deaf and sang in sign language.
I was enchanted and did not want it to end but had to leave.
My next stop was the "six to twelve year old orchestra". All sorts of noises were coming from outside the building – cars, sirens, jack-hammers, and other unrelated sounds, however it looked to me that the children heard ONLY the sound of music making. Inquisitive eyes were staring at me – whispering, giggling. All of a sudden the nine-year-old concert-mistress got up and everyone was silent (including me).
They tuned. Discipline is very important. In that classroom, it came out of respect for your peer as well as for what was about to happen. They played for me. I could not help but play for them also. They asked me questions. I, on the other hand, was speechless. I did not know what to ask.
We went to the courtyard where I saw a twelve year old coaching a six or seven year old kid.
Alex told me that one of the principles of the system is learning from the older brother – learning from someone who is just a few years older (under some supervision.) Consequently the twelve year old will learn from the eighteen year old and so the pyramid is constructed. This is a very close-knit web, where one nourishes as well as dependent on the other.
From the courtyard I went to hear a rehearsal of the twelve year old orchestra. If I heard correctly, then they have about FORTY-SIX different ensembles!
I was then introduced to a new program of "Instrument renovation and maintenance program". The teenage kids, who receive instruments from all around - instruments, which are usually in bad shape - learn how to fix them and bring them to a descent condition.
In retrospect, all of this was in preparation for my visit to the mature orchestra of children, which are in their late teens. They all sat in a large room that could barely fit them. A piano was waiting in the corner. There was electricity in the air. They started playing a Latin American piece, which was dedicated to me. My response was in the per(form)ance of three dances by Argentinean composer Alberto Ginastera - the closest to their musical language that I could get to.
At this point it was me who could not help it anymore and started to ask them questions about their upbringing, their goals, hopes, dreams. I heard stories mostly about their concerts all around Guatemala introducing music as well as themselves to the people of their country.
A ten-year-old kid then got up from within the orchestra and came forward to conduct the overture from Verdi's Nabucco.
In a day filled with extraordinary highlights, there was still one moment that stood above others.
...to be continued
First it was China. Now it is Guatemala.
Following two solo recitals in Guatemala not too long ago, I visited the youth orchestra of Guatemala City, which is modeled after the Simon Bolivar orchestra of Venezuela. The now famous orchestra that has taken kids from poor villages throughout Venezuela and gave them a home, a shelter, through a life in music, has become an inspiration to many. It was my first encounter with "El Sistema" – an encounter that lasted five hours, though feels like it still goes on.
As I walk up the uneven stairway of the old abandoned post office building turned music school in the center of Guatemala City, I help my hostess Alex to carry bags of used clothes. These are for the children I am about to meet.
One thousand five hundred kids, ages four to about twenty gather here daily between 2pm and 7pm to make music (and to give meaning to their life).
My first stop was at a classroom filled with the very young children most of which are four years old, who lined up to form a choir. They began to sing for me. What joy! They were so proud.
I will never forget the little girl who looked up at me. She did not remember all the words. She was shy. She was tiny, and yet she was part of something so big - bigger than her, bigger than me. Being together, singing together gave them a sense of purpose which was extraordinary. I became very emotional, and had to hide my tears. On the left side of the choir I noticed about a dozen older kids who were deaf and sang in sign language.
I was enchanted and did not want it to end but had to leave.
My next stop was the "six to twelve year old orchestra". All sorts of noises were coming from outside the building – cars, sirens, jack-hammers, and other unrelated sounds, however it looked to me that the children heard ONLY the sound of music making. Inquisitive eyes were staring at me – whispering, giggling. All of a sudden the nine-year-old concert-mistress got up and everyone was silent (including me).
They tuned. Discipline is very important. In that classroom, it came out of respect for your peer as well as for what was about to happen. They played for me. I could not help but play for them also. They asked me questions. I, on the other hand, was speechless. I did not know what to ask.We went to the courtyard where I saw a twelve year old coaching a six or seven year old kid.
Alex told me that one of the principles of the system is learning from the older brother – learning from someone who is just a few years older (under some supervision.) Consequently the twelve year old will learn from the eighteen year old and so the pyramid is constructed. This is a very close-knit web, where one nourishes as well as dependent on the other.
From the courtyard I went to hear a rehearsal of the twelve year old orchestra. If I heard correctly, then they have about FORTY-SIX different ensembles!
I was then introduced to a new program of "Instrument renovation and maintenance program". The teenage kids, who receive instruments from all around - instruments, which are usually in bad shape - learn how to fix them and bring them to a descent condition.
In retrospect, all of this was in preparation for my visit to the mature orchestra of children, which are in their late teens. They all sat in a large room that could barely fit them. A piano was waiting in the corner. There was electricity in the air. They started playing a Latin American piece, which was dedicated to me. My response was in the per(form)ance of three dances by Argentinean composer Alberto Ginastera - the closest to their musical language that I could get to.
At this point it was me who could not help it anymore and started to ask them questions about their upbringing, their goals, hopes, dreams. I heard stories mostly about their concerts all around Guatemala introducing music as well as themselves to the people of their country.
A ten-year-old kid then got up from within the orchestra and came forward to conduct the overture from Verdi's Nabucco. In a day filled with extraordinary highlights, there was still one moment that stood above others.
...to be continued
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