Hilary Hahn doesn’t need much introduction; as one of the leading violinists today, many of you have any number of her recordings or have been lucky enough to catch her in concert.  Usually we put our stars up on some pedestal, always with that remove of the stage between us.

But Hilary herself has a different idea of what a star should be up to in between wowing folks at those concerts. She happens to love to talk to people, especially other musicians, and is genuinely interested in what makes them tick. And she loves to share what she hears with us, often using her own trusty laptop to record her interviews. As she says: “Through interviewing, I find out things about people which would never come up in casual conversation: how they work, what their creative processes are, how they view their artistic output, what they value in their professions, and so on. To me, those topics are fascinating.”

Hilary was especially interested in doing a whole series of interviews with contemporary composers; since that’s what s21’s all about we thought “why not hook up?” So here’s the deal: each month Hilary will be visiting with a different composer, posting the interview to her YouTube channel.  We’ll let you know as soon as each goes up, give you the first part here and guide you to the place to view the rest. We’re really happy to work with Hilary, and to bring a bit of “real people” to the sometimes too-serious perception of our “art”.

First up, Hilary paid a visit to Judd Greenstein, a composer who’s not only been getting a lot of acclaim for his music, but is also one of the founding forces behind the exciting, young and extremely buzz-worthy New Amsterdam recording label. Hilary and Judd discuss self-presenting, artist-driven labels and the indie classical scene:

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Not that you personally knew every man, woman, and child who walked down the street in Jersey City. But you knew them well enough, could immediately see down into their dusty souls. You knew they had eaten hot dogs at Boulevard Drinks, had gone to the matinees at the Loew’s, had relatives who worked for either the Parks Department or Public works and had paid that 85-cent toll on the New Jersey Turnpike a few too many times. You knew what their wardrobe looked like, what their dates looked like, and the kinds of teachers they had–what they had learned or, more important, what they had failed to learn at a place like OLC [Our Lady of Czestochowa].

From Helene Stapinski’s Five-Finger Discount: A Crooked Family History.

Change the specifics, and you have my town, and maybe, with another change of specifics, you’d get your town. Wouldn’t you know it, Stapinski also wrote a book about being a musician!

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There weren’t any cellists at Summer Strings last night, so I played the cello parts (on the viola), which was a new and interesting treat. We were playing this arrangement of the Fiocco Allegro, where the melodic material is divided between the first and second violins, and the lower voices spend a lot of time as continuo players.

The violists, being new to continuo playing, needed a bit of guidance. I suggested a way for them to use their bows that would not sound too plodding, and still be rhythmic and directional–a way that would make it possible to support as well as hear the interplay between the upper voices.

I told them it was like cake. The fiddles are the frosting, and the rest of us are like the cake. The frosting is pretty, and it is what you see and pay attention to, but you still call it cake.

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My response to Anne Midgette’s survey about whether people are still buying CDs and how we prefer to listen to music… http://standpointmag.co.uk/node/1886

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I don’t spend a great deal of time reading current fiction, and, with some exceptions, I find that most recent novels that have musicians as main characters tend to show a less-than-plausible musical life. It sometimes comes from a lack of musical understanding; an inability to maintain the necessary balance between the idealistic, romantic innocence and the pedantic drudgery that real musicians carry with them everywhere they go, and it sometimes comes from a musician-writer’s lack of experience with using language to express what is more easily expressed through music.

Eva Hoffman, who has a deep understanding of music and a truly musical way of writing, explores many of the serious questions that musicians find themselves thinking about again and again. Without sounding precious or pretentious, she deals with musical subject matter (and other matters of subjectivity) in a plausible way. Her use of language is exceptionally beautiful, making the novel a joy to read.

Hoffman, a pianist herself, who abandoned her dream of being a professional musician when she left her native Poland at the age of 13, seems to have fashioned Isabel Merton, the main character of the novel, after an alternate version of herself, working out an idealized dream of life as a successful, intelligent, insightful and beautiful pianist (with a fine and understanding manager) who is recognized and respected internationally for the beauty and depth of her playing.

The novel, which is organized like a piece of music, in a kind of rondo form, perhaps, takes place during one of Isabel Merton’s concert tours through Eastern and Western Europe. Isabel’s travels from city to city are separated by transitions (Hoffman labels these transitions appropriately as “in between”) and excerpts from her former teacher’s freshly-published journal. Through a series of coincidences, Isabel meets Anzor, a highly passionate music lover from Chechnya, who manages to have business in many of the cities on Isabel’s tour. Through a developing romantic relationship, Anzor introduces Isabel to a world of violence and extremism that she is not prepared to understand.

The presence of music is everywhere in the novel, even, at one point, in its absence. I enjoy the way Hoffman’s omniscient narrator “transcribes” the random thoughts of characters as they listen to Isabel’s concerts, and the narrator occasionally enters into Isabel’s own stream of consciousness while she is playing.

It might be more difficult to end a novel than it is to end a piece of music. I found the novel’s coda, which includes the reintroduction of a character named Marcel, who appeared for a short time near beginning of the novel (just before the first memory of Isabel’s childhood) a bit heavy handed. The name of Proust comes up now and again in the novel, and Isabel refers to her childhood memories of shabbiness as “madeleines.” The reappearance of Marcel makes the structure of the novel clear, but the way it calls attention to itself makes me think that the device of a coda works better in a piece of music than it does in a work of fiction.

Hoffman’s coda moves Isabel into unfamiliar musical territory that Hoffman is not able to write about with the musical authority she holds during the rest of the novel, but for people without my particular sensitivity to these matters, I imagine the ending, which seems to echo the ending of In Search of Lost Time, would be quite satisfying.

Here’s a review of Appassionata for NPR by Jessa Crispin that includes an excerpt from the novel, a link to the Other Press page that has another excerpt and more reviews. Here is a review of the book by Grace Andreacchi that came out after its 2008 UK release as Illuminations, and an online discussion about the book.

Here’s a conversation with Eva Hoffman concerning her 1989 memoir Lost in Translation (and a transcription of it).

UPDATE: Post post reviews (both of these reviews reveal details of the plot):

Here’s a June 26th review Claire Hopley wrote for the Washington Times, and a June 28th New York Times review by Sylvia Brownrigg.

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This is my musical way of remembering these absolutely lovely (sunny, breezy, and relatively cool) days of summer that we have been (briefly) having here in Illinois. You can download a PDF of the music here, if you want.

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I’ve been working so hard today I’ve forgotten to eat, and it’s in that spirit of lightheadedness and poor impulse control that I share with you the following San Francisco Bay Area new music scene update.

The Lab’s 25th anniversary performance series is well underway, and in just one night, they’ll run the gamut of styles celebrating their audacious artistic vision.  On Thursday, July 2nd, Mills College’s own Chris Brown will curate and perform in a concert featuring Charles Johnson, Chad and Curtis McKinney, Tom Nunn and William Winant.

When Johnson et. al. take the stage, you’ll hear amplified string and percussion instruments tuned in just intonation, combined with analog electronics configured to create difference tones.  Chad and Curtis McKinney are twin brothers whose SuperCollider-based computer network music makes a tightly interwoven, visceral and strongly rhythmic combo. Chris Brown will put on his electroacoustic hat, teaming up with instrument inventor Tom Nunn to tangle with
legendary percussionist William Winant.

If you can’ t make it this week, never fear, since the series will continue next week with Miya Masaoka and Tomas Phillips on Thursday, July 9th, and a multimedia event the next night with Nao Bustamante, Margaret Tedesco, and Cliff Hengst.  Performance artist Bustamante will embody 1940s Dominican movie starlet Maria Montez, using video and the body as a source of backdrop, narrative, and emotion, taking audiences on a journey all over the body and its bejeweled parts.

The Lab is conveniently located at 2948 16th Street, San Francisco, near the 16th and Mission BART station.  They’ll let you in for $8.00 at the door. For more information, call (415) 864-8855.

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Here is a violin game (an adaptation of the classic game “Giant Steps”) that can help little fiddlers’ fingers feel the difference between half steps and whole steps.

Teacher: Molly, take two giant steps on the A string.

Molly: Mother may I?

Teacher: Yes you may.

(Molly plays two whole steps on the A string: a first finger B, followed by a C sharp and a D sharp)

Teacher: Molly, take two baby steps on the D string.

(Molly plays two half steps on the D string: a first finger E flat, second finger E natural, and a third finger F)

Teacher: You forgot to say “Mother may I.”

. . . and we try again. It is far easier to remember what a half step feels like compared to a whole step than to remember to say “Mother may I.”

Teacher: Molly, take one giant step and one baby step on the G string.

Molly: Mother may I?

Teacher: Yes, you may.

(and Molly plays a open G, followed by an A natural and a B flat.)

This game would probably work well for a group of children. You could even devise a way for the ultimate reward to be a recognizable tune–made of half steps and whole steps.

(Jump rope is good for rhythm, but the room where I teach is, sadly, far too dangerous for a jump rope. And it works best when you have “turners” and a person who can jump in.)

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Symphony of the City. The New Yorker, July 6 and 13, 2009.

More at the New Yorker website; more on Betsey Biggs here.

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http://standpointmag.co.uk/node/1856

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