Amy Adams likes to dog my posts. She seems to think I make good fodder…
In a thread on the Slipped Disc blog, I replied:
Amy chooses to take my comment out of context. However, in doing so she has opened the door to another question…just what does happen to a band that locks out Mozart? :-0
My post on the Slipped Disc blog:
Mr. Isserlis articulates something that, to me, separates the true artists from the accomplished performers — namely, that they search the structure of the piece to find its architecture. They put themselves into the mind of the composer, and perform from that position.
I first became aware of this mystery in listening to Heifetz. I stand in awe of those who do this…
All of us who were living in Minnesota in the late 80’s remember the horror we felt upon hearing that Jacob Wetterling had been abducted while riding his bike near a small town north of the Twin Cities. At once, especially for those of us blessed with children, Jacob became ‘our child.’ We have reacted with fury and frustration as leads came up with what looked like dead-ends, as there seemed to be a dearth of valid information. It was tempting to think that Jacob had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. But everyone knew that was not so. How could a crime of such magnitude elicit so little tangible information? The answer that might be the case may be even more sinister than the question. It is that people have known, to one extent or another, just what occurred, but have not yet come forward. It may be that some of them have even sworn to the death never to tell what they know.
The arrest last week of a person of interest, Daniel Heinrich, has proved both valuable and frustrating. While evidence linked his DNA conclusively to the abduction of another boy, Jared, prior to Jacob’s disappearance, the statute of limitations on that crime had ‘run out’. There was no evidence found directly linking him to what happened to Jacob, but there was ample evidence to hold him on other grounds. I can only hope that while he is in custody he will voluntarily or unwittingly give up all the information he has. It is my gut feeling that his arrest is of as-yet untold significance.
I would like to add to this impression my feelings about experiencing the premier of an opera by Steven Paulus by the St. John’s Boys Choir in Collegeville, not far from where Jacob disappeared. This is the story of a father who is grieving over the death of his son. There was something about this theme of grief that kept calling my attention to Jacob.
Was there some sort of mystery surrounding this opera, I began to wonder? Were there somehow clues to what had happened, or the environment in which the truth had been kept secret for so long? Or was this all simply a matter of ironic coincidence?
There was something very puzzling to me about it all. To add to my perplexity was the fact that a young man, Josh Guimond, had disappeared from the St. John’s University campus in 2002:
Could there possibly be some sort of connection? Could Josh have been considered a threat by someone? Is there any possibility that anyone trying to keep the lid on what happened to Jacob tried to silence Josh? Wild thoughts perhaps, but unsettling just the same. Until there are answers, what stone do we leave unturned?
In short, has there been and is there some sort of conspiracy of silence surrounding both the abduction of Jacob and the disappearance of Josh? Is there some sort of allusion in The Star Gatherer, or is it simply a mysterious and odd coincidence that a boy and a young man disappeared not far from each other in a place where an opera about the death of a boy is the theme?
Long ago, when my flute lessons took place at Orchestra Hall, my teacher, the then-Principal Flute, Sid Zeitlin, would turn me loose to practice on the darkened stage afterward. “Monostatos” did that as well, once or twice a month. Needless to say, it was a heady experience. Apparently whoever was playing on stage was piped throughout the building. I didn’t let that bother me. The sound of the flute with the acoustics at OH was sufficiently fascinating to take the edge off of any discomfort. However, as if by some sort of dark magic, players would crawl out from the woodwork to attempt to insinuate themselves into my life through flattery. I learned later that they were slandering me behind my back. Such is the life when one is born with a target on their back. :-0
For as long as I can remember I cherished every recording I could find made by Jascha Heifetz. My parents went to hear him once, at the Stratford Theatre in Connecticut, and refused to take me with them. It took me years to forgive them for that. That sound, that grace, those chops. I was mesmerized. When I began to play the flute seriously I realized that I wanted to play it as though it were a violin. I began to dream of somehow becoming one of Heifetz’ students, but even I realized that he would probably balk at having to deal with a flute player (or, more likely, roll his eyes and fall on the floor laughing) :-0 I would have been deliriously happy as a gofer, just sitting on the floor and listening to him play and teach, actually. I even had family in the LA area. I had everything figured out, I thought. I had the privilege of hearing one of Heifetz students perform the Haffner Serenade with the Minnesota Orchestra. The exquisite quality of Adam Han-Gorski’s sound and technique brought me to tears. Heifetz, the master, had done his job well. I tried to convince Mr. Zeitlin to write a letter of introduction to Heifetz for me, but he declined. So I wrote to him on my own. But a few months later he was dead, and my dreams were crushed forever.
So now I own the Complete Heifetz, and can honestly say that I have listened to virtually everything he ever recorded. The whole is far more patchy than the parts — in pieces where I would have expected him to be brilliant, he might sound annoyingly ordinary. Some of the itsy bitsy’s he so loved just make me grit my teeth. Some of his playing seemed stilted, as though he had not quite found the soul of the piece but was playing it anyway. Some of his playing (horrors!) sounded even ordinary. But on the whole I found I had uncovered one of the mysteries of his mastery — that when he learned a piece, he owned it, as though he were the composer. Not only did he know every nuance of style and phrasing, but he understood the architecture of the piece. He structured his performances so that there was only one real climax per movement. His playing was never flashy, it was always in proportion to the music.
I have heard it said (when he was alive many people said this) that Heifetz’ playing was ‘cold’. That, I feel, is another of his mysteries. Heifetz was from Vilnius, in Lithuania. He had the heart of a gypsy, but his playing was cool and his style eminently classical. Because the fire was controlled, it shone through the cool technique. The result was, as we know, simply breathtaking. During the years after that, when my chidren and I were locked out of Monostatos’ Orchestra, I found, as one of the clique I call “Monostatos” was a string player, that I could not longer tolerate the sound of stringed instruments. Except for Heifetz. During all the times of struggle and disappointment, his music was my lifeline. It still is. I do listen to other string players now, and recently enjoyed Hillary Hahn’s new recording of the Mozart V#5. She is splendid, and the recording is wonderful. Then I said, “Hmmm…how did Heifetz interpret this piece?” Different — light and delicate, yet with considerable power and speed. Flawless…
So, back to the darkened stage, where, at that time, I practiced not only the Mozart flute concerti, the Neilsen, the Khat, Bach, etc…but also parts of the Mendelssohn, the Brahms, even the Tchiakovsky. During the next few weeks I plan to record excerpts from some of those pieces. Stay tuned…:-)