More South American Memories II

On the way back to Santiago from two weeks in the south of Chile, we stopped in Chillan and were met by the Principal of a Seventh Day Adventist school, who drove us to the school campus near the base of the Andes. We stayed for two days, and played our main recital program for the whole school. I remember they had to move the piano, which was an upright, putting it on the back of a truck, with me riding in the cab. It was a rocky journey, but several strong lads were holding it. I remember the Director's wife saying they had just done Handel's "Messiah", noting that it was an
arrangement for three solo treble voices, chorus plus violin and piano. That impressed me no end. The morning we lett was a Saturday, so the Director was in prayer and unable to be with us. The wife prepared a nice breakfast, and somehow I remember her saying that the local Indian population, which wasn't interested in their religion, were all waiting for the "Great Earthquake". I guess I am still figuring that comment out.

Back in Santiago we had a few days to regroup, and prepare to travel to the extreme north of Chile, right into the Attacama Desert, perhaps the driest on earth. This leg was done by bus, and they turned out to be quite nice, with an atendant to serve tea and coffee, and snacks. I remember a rest stop along the way, where there was a water pump, quite in the middle of nowhere. There was a small flower blooming beautifully, and beside it a sign saying "Dame Agua"....which apparently everyone did.

We arrived in La Serena, a beautiful small town, and were met by Jorge Pena-Hen, the director of the orchestra at a big school for orphans. He had started this orchestra some years before, and this is now felt to be the real begining of what is called El Sistema, the movement made famous by the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra in Venezuela. He had already taken the orchestra to Cuba, so he was leaning heavily towards the Socialist Front. I remember Patricio Cobos remarking that some of the money was coming from the Red Chinese, who were very prevelent in certain areas of South America. I spent a few hours with Mrs. Pena-Hen, a wonderful pianist, and we played for each other. I remember being struck by the beauty of the piano music of Humberto Allende, Chile's great composer. His music remeinded me of Albeniz and Granados,and in fact Debussy was one of his great admirers.

The sad conclusion to this story is that a few years later,
after the assassination of President Allende,and the take over of General Pinochet, the so called Death Caravan wove its way around Chile, and Pena-Hen was murdered and his body dumped along a road just outside La Serena. I often wonder what became of his wife. I only found this out a couple of years ago when reading the European Piano Teachers Journal, the author of the article having been in Chile during the same years I visited. It took me a long time to digest all this, but it puts in focus the fact that we never know so much in life until long after the fact. Judy Woodruff of NPR News did a documentary of this period in Chile, Judy being In Chile during this time.

We played out last concerts in Vina del Mar, the great resort town on the Pacific, close to Santiago. After the concert there, a very lovely lady invited me to return
if possible and play a solo recital for them. I did this two weeks later, and was excited to find a review of it in Chile's leading newspaper a few days later. This was a great turning point in my career, and led to over 150 solo concerts in the years ahead for the United States Information Service. Isn't it remarkable how things happen in life.

I left Chile with deep memories, and often I see pictures in my mind's eye. One that I often reflect on is traveling in the south of Chile on a cold day, by a very old bus. Suddenly I saw a man on horseback,with a second horse next to him waiting on a small rise by the side of the road. The bus stopped, after hours of travel, and a man got off with his suitcase and mounted the second horse and they rode off into the gloom. It made me realize the vast size of this country and the huge areas of very small population. A romantic scene....worthy of a song!

South American Memories...1971

Chile in Revolt...Winter 1971 in Chile

Writing about this part of my life forty some years after the fact has it's own inherent perils and failing memories. But the fact remains, much remains vivid and thought provoking. I made this first tour of Chile when Patricio Cobos called me from Wintrop College to say his accompanist, pianist Jess Casey, would not be able to make the tour. He asked if I could possibly leave in two weeks time and also, if I felt comfortable about his repertoire demands. It was the end of term in Columbia, and I knew I wanted to go terribly. We met soon after and went through two of the larger works which I recall the Brahms Sonata in A Major for violin and Piano was one. In those days I had a large repertoire of music for strings, and almost as large for winds. A few shorter works were familiar, and there was also a mandantory work by an American composer, which I do not recall.

There was a rather humorous twist in that Patricio had just gotten married, and his bride would be accompanying us on our tour of 12 cities, lasting about a month. She was a lovely tall American beauty, and Patricio was barely up to my shoulder, and I was 5'11" in those days. Of course, everyone thought the bride was mine, and just who was this Chilean violinist tagging along. We had our share of humorous adventures to say the least.

Pat had arranged for me to stay in Santiago with his Aunt Clara and her family, and they lived near the center of town in a large apartment above a furniture store. That gave me the opportunity to get to know some locals, and also to rest up between segments of concerts. As we were playing for the United States Information Service, we made our base at the Centro Americano, where the main attraction was a large library and classes for teaching English. There was also a very nice Steinway in a small auditorium, and we practiced a great deal when we got there so as to make a team out of ourselves. After about a week we were ready to set off to the northern part of Chiles, that long narrow country that is as long as America is wide. We would be traveling by train and bus. Two days before we were to leave we were told that newly elected President Salvatore Allende would be touring the north as well, leaving the same day as we had planned. The American Embassy said we must go SOUTH instead....so in the space of two days the whole affair was turned around, and we indeed DID go south. This made me discover the fact that my sponsors were not fazed in the slightest, changing all sorts of concert arrangement for this long tour. Latins seem to like this kind of spontainiety, as evidently it happens all the time.

What is most important about this particular time in Chile was the fact, that after years of rule by the Social Democrats, Chile had elected a Socialist Party candidate, Salvatore Allende, as President. The country was virtually in an uproar, and the Socialist's drive to take land from large estate owners and parcel it out to poorer
people was having a chaotic effect, to say the least.

We played our first concert at the Centro, and a large audience attended. We had an
excellent review in the main newspaper, except I was puzzled by the comment that my
ornaments in the Mozart were "unusual". I never figured that out! We left by the night
train for Conceptcion, and I remember I couldn't sleep because the tracks were old and there was a clicking sound every few seconds where the ralls didn't quite connect! Pat made us go to the restroom and collect a share of toilet paper, saying it would mysteriously disappear. I guess there was a shortage along the line, so to speak!

Chillan is famous as the hometown of the great Chilean pianist Claudio Arrau. In fact, when we visited the marketplace I could hear him playing the Appasionata over the radio in one of the stalls. He was a hero, as he had come home after one of the worst earthquakes and played benefit concerts all over. I learned this from our piano tuner, who had accompanied Arrau on his tours in Chile. When we were leaving the following day, a man came to the train before it left and asked if we could come to his school some miles to the east near the base of the Andes. He said they didn't get much classical music, and the whole school would turn out. We accepted, and made plans to go there on our return in two weeks.

As we headed to the extreme south of Chile, we followed the Bio-Bio River for miles, and it was in flood stage, and often seemed like a vast lake. Temuco was Pat's hometown, and we had two concerts to play there. I remember the hall had no heat, and we played with a small heater at our backs. Afterward the last concert there was a banquet in a local hotel, and I remember the desert was called "Volcano" as it was the shape of one, and the top was filled with brandy sugur cubes, which ignited into a glorious plume of fire! Inside there was ice cream...so it was a kind of Baked Alaska, Chilean style. I was having to adjust to very late nights, Latin style, and soon learned the value of the siesta!


Our tour took us ts Valdivia, as far south as we could go without being much more
adventurous and heading into the mountains and glaciers of Chile Austral, where
Puntas Arenus is the most southern city in the world. That was not to be, but it
was the big regret of this trip. Valdivia was built along a river, and farmers brought boats with vegetables and fruits right into the heart of the city. We played for the
Goethe Society, as their is a huge German population in this area. Suddenly there seemed to be a lot of blondes of both sexes. We were entertained royaly, and I remember the beautiful hotel where we stayed, with the huge dining room with windows looking over the river.


Heading north again, we stopped in Concepcion, which is the home of one of Chile's great universities. Little did we realize that it was also a center of revolution, not the safest atmosphere during these turbulent days. Pat was to play with the school orchestra, but we received word that student unrest might lead to a demonstartion against visiting Americans. The concert was delayed one day, and took place quietly in the early evening. The orchestra was wonderful and Pat played two works of Saint-Saens.


A footnote to this is that, unknown to me, the composer Luigi Nono was in Chile at this time. He was associated with Stockhausen and Brono Maderna, leaders of the Darnstadt Group in Germany, but soon to establish his own studio in Freiburg. Patricio and I returned to Chile the next year, and again went to Concepcion. During that summer (winter there) a young leader of the Chilean Rovolutionary Front named Luciano Cruz was murdered under mysterious circumstances. Nono was deavastated at the news, and wrote one of his great masterpieces.. "Como una ola fuerza y luz" in memory of him. Just last summer 2011 I went to the Salzburg Festival to hear Luigi Nono's greatest work, "Prometeo", performed in the huge Collegiate Church. A massive work that takes two orchestras, several smaller orchestral choirs, two choruses, and two conductors...it is a work revered in Europe, but little known in the USA, where it still awaits a performance. I find such co-incidences thrilling in my life, even if it takes years for it all to clarify. There is much more to this story...and I will take up my pen again soon.

Fall is in the Air

One nice thing about living surrounded by nature is the noting of subtle changes
as the seasons unfold. There is a moment in mid-August that always alerts one
that summer is ending. Perhaps it is a cooler than expected morning, although the
day can still be hot. Perhaps it is the cooler feel as the sun goes down, heat
suddenly dissapating. I always look for the early red leaves on one or two trees
or for scarlet leaves that appear in the underbrush. More than once I have ventured
out in the woods to see what is catching my eye, always startled to think color is
appearing so soon. I have a hickory tree by the front door, and this year the nuts
are bigger than ever it seems. I pick them up so Billy can mow more easily, and since
they have been falling for over a month now, I get some good waistline exercise. Today
I noted the squirrels have finally gotten around to them, and my job is over. There
are a few pine stumps around, and the squirrels use them for tables to dine ...there
is always a residue of cracked nuts atop them.

I went to survey my neighbor's pear tree, and it is quite full, but they are smaller
this year. I am allowed to pick up those that fall, and it seems everytime I go
there this strong breeze comes from nowhere, shakes the tree, and all these lovely
pears fall to the grass below. Isn't that amazing how these strong winds come along!

By the drive, two trees have almost shed all their leaves, and one oak is ready to
turn, framed by very green trees. In a few days I will have this wonderful painting
seen through the picture window in my sitting room.

Then there is my tiny green lizard, who hangs out by the back door. I dug up the
hydrangea bush two weeks ago, and gave it away. It was becoming so ragged. Little
green lizard loved to sleep on a hydrangea leaf. Many a hot day I would pass him by
and notice how green blended into green. Today I saw him on the bush I
replace his pad with, and he gave me a wink, as to say he was still around and
liked the new space. I have so many birds and squirrels that take no notice of me,
afterall, I am just a visitor to their place on earth. As Colette would write..
"Earthly Paradise", her ode to her mother's gardening skills, and her own early life.

"Quo Vadis?" -The Art of Piano Performance"

Curious title, curious frame of mind, curiosity killed the cat. I have more time these days to ponder weighty subjects, and I can think of nothing that matches my curiosity about piano performance today. I just read a few pages in a self-help book by a noted scholar of piano literature and performance practice. I had to put it down after a few pages, as I felt if I had to suffer like some people over performance anxieties, I would not even leave the house. It is such a luxury to share misery, but frankly, any misery connected to the piano is a very private affair. It never ceases to amaze how many pianists sit down at the piano bench, and instantly forget (or they never read) Tobias Matthay's most valuable suggestion: "Never sit down at the piano except to make music". What does this tell us? It tells us that everything we do at the piano should have some amount of framework, design, objective, purpose...you can add you own word. Exercises? These are the most challenging of all, as they demand our utmost discipline and unwavering attention. This is when we deal with craft, and craft is the basis of any art. The painter sizes his canvas while peering into the white void, his internal vision already alive with purpose. The writer looks at the blank page and suddenly writes a few words that soon open up into sentences and paragraphs. The ballet dancer works at the barre,yet if it is a good studio, music plays and each exercise builds towards the complete body/mind experience. The pianist must ease himself into his session, first determining what kind of session it might be. Just the thought that one might plan out the time might be news to many. What is your goal for today, tomorrow, the week, month, year....decade!! Are you starting all new pieces at the smae time, or, are you adding them slowly, so each work is at a different stage of development? How easy to be overwhelmed. Have you really thought about the musical and technical challenges of each work, so as to avoid having everything being a plunge for notes and organization? Buffets are fun, but eating at one every meal might make one soon turn off food in general. So the same is true for repertoire. Do you really enjoy sitting through programs that are more about the performer tackling one hurdle after another? Perhaps it never entered his head that the audience is usually the reason he is there, and they don't want a huge buffet. They want a balanced program, which means just that. On reading my words I think I might be still under the influence of The Victorian Age. On reflection, my early teachers were very much under this influence. We often think Victorians were stuffy, rather stifled people. But it amuses me that so many dramatic breakthroughs came just at the end of this age. Tobias Matthay made great insights into the whole process of learning, balancing scientific observations with equal amounts of common sense and instinct. Freud made his amazing journies into the psyche, and Stanislavsky made acting into something vital and timeless. Alexander made his bold discoveries about mind and body, so nobly illustrated recently in "The King's Speech", where his techniques were used to unlock the tongue of George VI. I grew up in an age when beautiful tone was the great challenge, as the Golden Age of Pianists had at it's core this wonderful aesthetic of sound. I heard many of the great practicioners of this art, including Rubenstein, Hess, Horowitz, plus many others through their recordings...especially Cortot and Gieseking. Each had a unique sound, but they all had this tonal art that was at the core of their music. I have a vivid memory of Carl Friedberg, then in his eighties, playing parts of the Brahms Concerto in B Flat Major. We had finished a lesson, and he was showing me some of his ideas. What struck me so stongly was the focus of his sound. It had weight, but it also had virility and strength. His fingers were deep in the keys, and everything was directed to the musical intent. He didn't wave around, fall around, or any of those things we see in abundance today. I just read a review in The Guardian of a recital by Yuja Wang in London last week. The critic was eager to say she had fantastic fingers that did everything she demanded with ease. What surprised him was the lack of depth in her playing, and the sound could become hard at times. She is very much a pianist of the moment, and she atrracts attention by dressing unconventionally for her public. Perhaps we are entering a whole new AGE. Its more about the package and the predictable results, than it is about the searching for soul and profond moments. I have grown very fussy in my advancing years, not wanting to be made to listen to speed and thrills. Years ago my teacher Frank Mannheimer sat through a performance of a Chopin Scherzo by a master class student, a performance so loud and fast it was almost unbearable. He smiled at the end and told the young man."A racecar could have not done it any faster". Luckily that young man grew into a fine and sensitive artist.

"I Slept with Margaret Thatcher!"

Now it can be told...after years of suppression and torment! I had taken my mother to the U.K. in 1982, just as the Falklands War was raging. Margaret was before the House of Commons every day, choreographing the latest news to fashion the best political adavantage. She was in full sail, just like Meryl Streep in the fascinating film making the rounds of late. I had arranged our London schedule so I could practice each morning, a concert looming on the horizon the last part of our stay. I pondered..."what will I do about mother all this time". Little should I have worried. She was galvanized in front of the TV with the daily Orations of Margaret. If this wasn't enough, there was also a big snooker tournament going on at the same time, so somehow my mother managed to get hooked on this as well. I think the fact that the Queen Mum was also a great fan, and actually was very good at snooker, convinced my mother that this was indeed the way to go. At least, by lunchtime, Mom was ready to go out, so it meant a lot less strain on me to have her so enjoy her long mornings in her robe with the telly going.

Now, just as you are wondering about Margaret and me, I should relate that some years later I had a dream where I was somehow at 10 Downing Street. A great party seemed to go on and on. Margaret was ever so nice, and showed me over the place. It seemed to grown darker and darker until I realized I would never get home ....wherever that was in this dream. Margaret said, "John dear, you had best put up here for the night. There is a nice long window seat on the landing between the first and second floor. It has a lovely cushion, and I will bring you a blanket"

There was just something so "take charge" about Margaret. I bedded down for the night, and before I knew it, it was dawn. Someone brought me a cup of tea and a biscuit, and I departed just as soon as I could.

I never saw Margaret again! We just passed like ships in the night. When I saw "The Iron Lady" I felt I had seen it all before. I guess I had!

Spring Forward....Step Back

So here it is the early days of February, yet my garden seems to say it is mid-March. It has been a long time since I experienced such a long bloom of my 20 or so camellias. "Magnolia Grandiflora" is a mass of shell pink flowers, and of course it is my favorites, at least at this moment. But an old timer, "Governor Mouton", has been blooming for two months, with the largest flowers I have ever seen. The longest time record is held by "Debutante" which started flowering in October and is just now finishing up. When I moved to South Carolina, a long experienced gardener told me that if I planted camellias and roses I would have flowers all year long.
Some of the camelias are now trees, after 27 years of growth. Some were moved from the front side to the back after the first three years. The rule seems to be to not plant them near oak or walnut trees, but aim for pines. Recently I had to do radical surgery on my woodland garden. Bushes planted originally too close together (a common fault) had to be thined out, with the result that a new vista appeared from my breakfast table window, down the hillside to the pond below. I can only see it in winter, but other times it is nice to know it is there.

Another loss was my largest pine, which was slowly finishing. I had a wonderful team come and take it down from the top, limb by limb, as it was only 12 feet from the house. Unfortunately, they only cut the trunk in rather large sections, as the charge to haul it away was too much for my pocket. So Billy, my faithful gardener, and myself set up a sawmill operation, and managed to roll all of them down to the bottom of the property, mostly out of sight. It will take a good 10 years for them to break down, but that is so much better for the enviornment.

I never realized I would go into woodland management, but that is the case when you have three acres of dense forest. We have slowly cleared under areas of trees, but not as radically as a good German farmer would do. I find birds like clearings as long as there is cover nearby. This, plus access to water, will bring birds to your porperty, even without putting out feed. Also, sandy areas attract doves, who like to sit in sand, or take a sand bath.

Our lovely new Southeast Park, situated off Garner's Ferry a few miles past the VA, is a great addition to this side of town. Today I noticed a small, slim wooden tower seeming to be about 15 feet high, with a top hat of metal that reflects the sun. According to the park ranger, it was built recently as a project by the Boy Scouts, and its purpose is to attract Swifts, which feed on the insects attracted by the reflection. The birds circle around it, feeding in the air. Its all too complicated for me, but it seems a nice addition. I guess the attraction is rather like moths attracted to light. Live and Learn!

Gustav Leonhardt

The death this weeik of Gustav Leonhardt brought memories of a visit with him in his home in Amsterdam in 1959. I was living in London, but decided to visit friends (fellow Fulbrighters) for a Dutch Christmas. A friend from Yale found a family for me to stay with for the week I was there, and so began my introduction to the Dutch way of life, and the wonderful city of Amsterdam. I was given a bicycle and thrown out into the streets of the city, almost immediately being pulled to the curb by a very polite policeman, who explained the rules of the road. Small country, lots of rules.

The visit with Gustav came about through Clyde Holloway, who was studying harpsichord with him, along with his organ studies with another professor. The small house sat right on the banks of a canal, and was filled with musical instruments and small children, family life lived where it fell. I was thrilled to see the harpsidhords, and listened as Gustav played Bach and children played at his feet. Clyde explained that Gustav was "the person" to go to, as he was at the forefront of Baroque performance practices at that time. Having been to Yale, where there is one of the great instrument collections in the world, and having studied with Emanuel Winternitz, the curator of instruments at the Metropolitan Museom of Art, I was no stranger to this world. In fact, my dissertation at Yale was directed by Ralph Kirkpatrick, whose performance style was well known to me. Kirkpattick was a difficult man, personally and musically. He laid down the rules, and that was it. Gustav, by contrast, was completely at ease with himself, and made you feel welcolmed into his home.

At that time Gustav had already formed his small consort, and done recordings for the Bach Guild, all released by Vanguard Records. He talked about his study in Vienna, and his dislike of his courses, leading him to spend all his time in the libraries copying manuscripts...literally dozens of them. He also said he came to the harpsichord during the Second World War, went he and his family were hanging on by a thread, living in the countryside with very little to eat. How well I remember my Dutch friends telling me they ate tulip bulbs in the depths of hunger.

So although my visit was brief, it still is bright in my memory. He ended up being a transformative figure in baroque music, yet remained down to earth and stayed in his charming home until his death.