Midsummer Madness

Days in the Northern Hemisphere are getting shorter again. Another Summer Solstice Parade with its nude bikers took place this past weekend in Fremont, an easy walking distance from home. No, I didn't go and watch as I was busy teaching. We Finns, at least us baby boomers, grew up with a healthy attitude toward the human body. In a hot sauna it wouldn't cross anyone's mind to wear anything but our birth suits. People would go and cool off in the cold lake in the nude: nobody raised an eyebrow. Seeing a hundred naked bicyclists would have struck us as totally silly, thus such stunts never took place.

My parents' birthdays are very close to Midsummer. Of course, I get to celebrate my mother's day tomorrow in memory only as she has been in another reality for over eleven years. But my father stubbornly lives on and turned 99 yesterday. I would have made a point of being there if it mattered to him. He lives in the past most of the time, visiting family members and friends who have been gone a long time but who are very real to him. I envy him: today's serious global problems don't bother him. Yet my dad can be very much present, too, and has an eye for beauty. He gives compliments to the caregivers and visitors, commenting on their good looks. His appetite remains good and he loves his desserts that are part of every meal. Yes, he has cheated the Grim Reaper many times and surprised us all with his will to live. He has had prostate cancer for over forty years but it has responded well to hormone treatment all this time.

Our Father's Day this year was just a day before my dad's birthday and it made me think of him a lot. The Finnish version takes place the second Sunday in November but this way I get to remember my father twice as often. Since he has visited us so many times, I can almost sense his presence here. What an interesting man: a prolific writer and historian who never knew how to tell a lie. Sometimes his honesty was painful, especially when it came to music. Even at his advanced age his hearing is excellent and he always trusted his ears more than concert reviews or falsely praising press releases. Already in Los Angeles when I brought him to concerts, he would say that the conductor obviously "liked himself too much" and therefore wasn't much of a true musician. Seattle didn't get any better rap and I couldn't really argue with my dad as I knew he was right. My wife was responsible for a chamber music series and one time when her father-in-law was here, a newcomer violinist who was well-liked by local critics was playing. Dad wasn't very impressed as he remarked "It played like a good student". The Finnish language makes no difference with gender and "he/she" can easily be replaced with "it". Naturally, I was happy that my old man loved the way my wife played. He would have no doubt told me if he felt differently.

Almost a year and a half ago I was in my home country performing and teaching. We in America had just suffered our financial meltdown and people back there were shaking their heads and talking about an American crisis with bad mortgages. When I tried to warn my countrymen that all problems will eventually affect everyone in the new global economic order, they just shook their heads and insisted that life in Europe was going to continue as before. Iceland was seen as an exception: the tiny country had no business playing ball with the big boys. Well, today they know better. The situation in various EU countries is very serious indeed. Just today we learned about tough measures the United Kingdom's new Conservative government has taken to cope with the worst depression since 1930s. Even Finland has taken a hit but at least real estate prices haven't slumped like here. Our stock market has tried to stage a comeback but at least this individual doesn't believe our problems are over. Here in Seattle there have been some hurtful cuts in social services, education and even the way parks and libraries are run.

Although the local arts organizations have been unusually tight-lipped about their finances, the picture cannot be rosy. I can foresee the death of a number of such institutions nationwide or at least near-death experiences. There is no reason why Seattle wouldn't be affected as well. An elderly opera lover recently told me that a Ring cycle last summer must have made a fortune to the company behind it! Wagner hardly is Tchaikovsky; the Ring, a bottomless money pit, is the total opposite of ballet's cash cow, the Nutcracker. Since there is very little in music making that would interest us here, I ordered tickets to hear Verdi's Requiem in Portland this coming Sunday. Not that we expect to hear fabulous playing from Oregon Bach Festival's orchestra, but at least the singers should be good and the Maestro, Helmuth Rilling, first class. One of us will write about the concert, I'm sure. We shouldn't have rushed with the ticket order, though, as in today's email there was an offer for a 15% discount. If such an unusually attractive concert fails to sell out, the situation with your ordinary program must look far grimmer. The manual laborers, in this case the orchestra musicians, like to think of themselves as "artists" and feel a strange sacred entitlement to their high salaries. It is not that much different from the Greek people who think that everything in their system is just fine and life can continue in its corrupt but merry way just as before. Only a fool would report his income correctly and pay taxes accordingly. But the well-to-do don't like to be taxed here either and do anything in their power to avoid it. A much admired philanthropist never gives away money without benefiting from the transaction, after all, yet our society admires such people to no end.

The Fremont bikers, the sauna-loving Finns and an emperor in his new clothes all show true transparency, the latter out of his own stupidity. We should expect to see the name fiscal nudity from all non-profits and also from those who like to be thought of as benefactors.

For those interested in the Finnish midsummer, may I recommend a fabulous children's book, equally fit to be read by grown-ups, Tove Jansson's Moominsummer Madness, also known as Moomin and the Dangerous Midsummer Night.

picture from the original "Farlig midsommar"

Day of Memories

When as a youngster I first heard about the American Memorial Day, the term seemed puzzling. I had just started learning English and the word obviously was derived from memory. I found out the meaning in no time, but to this day I think of memories, memorizing and keep the day as a somber reminder that so many of us, especially the elderly, are falling victims of dementia. Of course the Finns have their day to remember the ones who paid defending their country with their lives, but we call it a day to remember the fallen. In America, it has been a long time since we actually have defended our country: the deaths have happened far away from home on foreign soil, as a result of our involvement in affairs of other nations, or our financial or political interests. Originally the Decoration Day, this special day was meant to honor the Union soldiers who had died in battle.

I am a pacifist and only believe in armed battle when defending one's family and home country from foreign aggression. Wars have no victors, just losers. Terrible acts take place but only the losing side is made to pay for their sins. Just a few days ago the only still living member of the Enola Gay crew, the navigator Van Kirk, said that he would be ready to drop the nuclear bomb again as he hadn't lost a night's sleep over the deaths of 200,000 people, mainly civilians. Yes, the Nazis caused horrifying destruction and suffering. How can we ever forgive them for the destruction of the Jewish people and other people they deemed unwanted? But the Allied forces were no angels, either. Cluster bombing of Germany and Japan was more of a test to see what would happen than a military necessity. Yes, we now know that human bodies can melt to a puddle of fat if all the oxygen has been used up, but what good is such knowledge? What if the evil Germans would have won and the British would have had to surrender? The weapons and the scientists in the Third Reich were far superior to the other side, especially in the beginning of the Second World War. What if they had managed to create the first atomic weapon? Would Hitler be the hero of the "free" world?

But let's return to my "Memory Day" concept. Since my mother suffered from Alzheimer's as did one of her two brothers, I naturally wonder if I have the same sad future awaiting. Recently previous theories of the cause of this horrifying condition have undergone a 180 degree turn. We were so sure that the amyloid plaques in the brain were the cause of the disease that all medical research and development of drugs evolved around this concept. Now new information has surfaced and it is very contradictory to the old way of thinking. Oligomers, floating clumps of amyloid, seem to be the cause, at least with mice. The plaques might actually be nature's way of protecting the brain. Some have compared it to the mechanism in an oyster where a pearl is created around a grain of sand, to prevent damage to the life form. By having developed drugs to prevent these plaques we might have made matters worse. Not everyone is ready to embrace the new theory, but when stomach ulcers were first linked to Heliobacter pylori many doctors and researchers laughed. In order to make progress in a dead end situation one has to think outside of the accepted norms for the box. In the case of Alzheimer's we have long known from autopsies that there are perfectly normal people with such deposits and sometimes an early case will present none or very few. Hopefully science will know more before this ever becomes an issue with me.

Although presently many professionals are ready to lump every old-age dementia in the same basket of Alzheimer's, that clearly isn't the case. I have a 99-year-old father who has for well over a decade suffered from some form of dementia but he is still able to talk and carry on a conversation, give ladies flattering comments and so on. After two broken hips he isn't able to walk and there are other signs of extreme age, but clearly the course of the condition is very different from what my mother went through. So, let's not throw out the terms old-age and vascular dementia ("hardening of the arteries"). Different forms of frontotemporal lobe dementia (FTD) are another group of illnesses affecting the brain and a cruel ones as they affect a patient's personality so much.

The mechanism behind memory is most intriguing. What makes us remember a certain event but forget another one? At what age do our first permanent memories form? I was "born old" and can easily remember happenings when I was just two. I also have a very clear image of being in a baby stroller looking up and seeing people, tall as trees, bending down to a closer view. I know that this really happened because I remember the plywood structure of the stroller and my mother admitted that after the war nothing fancier was available. I learned to walk very early, so clearly this would have happened much before. I also remember breastfeeding on what seemed like an enormous source of nourishment. This also had to happen early as my mother was busy returning to her business. Many events are easy to place in a correct time knowing when they happened. The summer home was being built before my second birthday. We didn't have a car and took a taxi to see the hole that my grandfather had dug for the foundation for his house. It was filled with water as the fall was rainy. I had just turned two. At the same age my mother took me to see our next house and I remember holding onto her hand and stepping through the bathroom. The red and yellow tiles left a permanent impression. Of course they later seemed much smaller than at first sight. On my third birthday by grandpa came over in the afternoon and gave me a gigantic box of Fazer candies, one kilo or 2.2 lbs of them. I remember sitting with him by the kitchen table. On my fourth birthday it was freezing and I went to the sandbox all by myself and felt ever so old. No other kids were out but I had received a pocket knife and was admiring it.

I learned to read fluently at three, not only Finnish but music as well. It is just another language with a different notation, right? As I was far ahead of my age group, I read the daily paper and can remember many headlines from early on. That in turn made me very curious of the world and my love for geography and other knowledge was born.

Today I wish I didn't remember so much. I am an old elephant. Some memories can be pushed to the back burner, but there are people who have wronged me and my family. It is easier to forgive than to forget, but when no apology has ever been offered, there is no reason for forgiveness either. Perhaps when I can go to a gravestone and spit on it, the matter has reached its conclusion. If I'm no longer around, maybe a family member will do so for my soul's behalf. My silent and non-violent war continues.

Dude and Dilbert

When I first heard about Los Angeles Philharmonic's short American tour with Gustavo Dudamel, I knew that critics in certain cities would grab the opportunity and attack him. Granted, the orchestra may not be as refined as some other ensembles, but this is hardly news. This was the way under Esa-Pekka Salonen as well but then the group got nothing but praise. Yet my countryman hardly created such a stir as "the Dude". Clearly the orchestra doesn't play at a lower level than it did a year ago and the young dynamo on the podium creates enough energy to electrify every musician on stage and every listener in the audience.

One of the most thoughtful analyses was written by perhaps the least biased critic in America, Anne Midgette, in the Washington Post. Ms. Midgette has no ax to grind with Dudamel and sees the situation objectively, unlike the writers in some other East Coast cities. The New York Times published two reviews. In the first, Anthony Tommasini had some unflattering comments regarding the conductor and the orchestra itself. In the second, Allan Kozinn is far more complimentary. It reminded me of a pair of reviews not so long ago where the first critic attacked the NY Philharmonic's solo horn and another critic rushed to praise the player soon afterward. Again, I don't think the horn player's skills improved overnight. Critics often have their own agenda. It is understandable in a provincial city but regrettable in the country music capital. Perhaps a critic is friends with another horn player who would like to have the principal fired, demoted or at least made to retire. This is not different from a provincial "music cricket" attacking a concertmaster, in order to push a mediocre student-level violinist, his pal, to his spot. This is all done in the name of I scratch your back if you scratch mine, in other words mutual brown-nosing.

I don't think the Los Angeles Philharmonic will ever reach the level of Vienna, Berlin or Chicago. Perhaps nobody has noticed but orchestras in hot climate don't usually excel (youth groups excluded), as the climate affects any person's lifestyle, including that of a musician. For example, orchestras in Arizona, Louisiana and Florida are either in deep trouble or have vanished. A number of other states can be added to the list. Texas is an exception but few would place the Houston or Dallas groups among the true elite of orchestras. This is not just an American phenomenon: in a hot climate there are almost no ensembles worth praising other than the Israeli Philharmonic, and that group is more interesting to look at than to listen to, with so many senior members. In the Southern Hemisphere there are probably a few decent orchestras that consider themselves "World Class" but then, who doesn't? Melbourne and Sidney have very good symphonies but they are not in the top tier either; neither are orchestras in South Africa or South America. The latter has a history of loving classical music and is famous for long ovations but they lack the funds for top notch groups. Many years ago I remember reading that the orchestra in São Paulo could have a season only every other year, due to the enormous expenses of stage hands, negotiated by their union. And Paulistas and Porteños (Buenos Aires) most likely prefer opera to orchestral music. Isn't there an opera house in Manaus, in the middle of the Amazon rainforest?

But let's go back to the Dude. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand that certain cities are bitter about the Angelinos snatching the young Venezuelan. No headliner really wanted the burden of becoming New York Philharmonic's new Music Director, as with all the interesting visiting groups, the orchestra belongs in the "we also have" category. So, Alan Gilbert's contract in Sweden came to an end very timely, and making him seem larger than life was left to the PR machinery, including the NY Times. He first conducted the orchestra in Central Park and got rave reviews for that performance, although seriously I doubt if any listener would have heard the difference between that group with "Dilbert" and the Cucamonga Symphony with maestro Porkanini at the helm. It was clear then that the local media wasn't going to be objective, and in the view of the Big Apple pride and difficult economic times, it is fully understandable. However, are people really that gullible that if a public figure suffers from flatulence and they hear and read comments how fragrant the odors are, they will go around sniffing the air saying ah, he had wonderful egg salad for lunch? Do they follow a maestro to the men's room and rave about the delicious aroma of asparagus in the air? "It stinks" can become a most positive experience in the hands of the media! Don't get me wrong, I wish Mr. Gilbert the best of luck in his new post, but easy it won't be, as it never was for any of his predecessors.

I haven't ever seen or heard anyone poke fun at Mr. Gilbert's looks although I'm sure a mean person could. Gustavo Dudamel has usually been described as charismatic and youthful with wild hairdo, but a Bay Area newspaper, San Jose Mercury News, described him as short and chunky in one of the first reviews of the tour. What a conductor's height has to do with his musical capabilities is beyond me. Since such body type of a Latino or Latina is stereotypical, perhaps the critic, Mr. Scheinin, was expressing his racial opinion. Who knows, he might be after a job with the Arizona Republic in Phoenix. The San Francisco concerts received mixed reviews in the media although audiences ate up the music making. The everlasting rivalry between Los Angeles and San Francisco is a funny thing. It exists in every area from finance to education to the arts. Long time ago I played in the Bay Area as a principal in the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra and the local critic decided to write almost the entire review about our timpani player who wasn't one of our regulars. I didn't know that a nice older gentleman at the kettle drums could ruin an entire concert. This was especially strange because the poor chap was doing a fine job and only played in one piece, a symphony by Haydn or Mozart.

It would be interesting to hear Dudamel in front of another orchestra, preferably in a situation where he could work with the group for several concerts and would learn to know its strengths and weaknesses. He did remarkable work with the enthusiastic young players in Caracas. While watching them perform my large computer monitor sent out sparks. The same excitement didn't quite happen with the Swedes in Gothenburg, but they would probably need a few portions of Akvavit to make that materialize and by then the musicians might fall off their chairs.

in photos Gustavo Dudamel, Alan Gilbert

Auditions, Part 1

As repulsive as a thought playing in an orchestra is to most good string instrumentalists, at least for the rest of one's active life, most end up doing it. Options are limited: very few are pretty or handsome enough to manage a career as a soloist. Besides of the eye-candy element, one is also supposed to please conductors and even music critics (if they still exist), whatever that means. The actual skill level doesn't really matter, neither does artistry nor individuality. Some choose to stay in Academia, often as a member of a string quartet in residence, another possibly nightmarish scenario.

The road to an orchestra goes through a process called auditioning. It is a rather faulty and biased system, but more on that another day. These are just some reflections from the distant past, all true.

Although I never intended to become an orchestra musician and still don't consider myself one, over the decades I have had a lot of experience with different groups in different countries and continents. Back home, decades ago, any foreigner was not welcome, a far cry from today's situation. The orchestra where my first wife, an American, became the concertmaster, the audition committee tried every single trick in the book to prevent her employment. After she was named for the post, the conductor was told to call in sick on the Finnish Independence Day, December 6, when the orchestra was to perform Finnish music, including the Finlandia by Sibelius, to a large audience. The contract stated in small print that in case of the conductor's absence, the concertmaster had to take care of wielding the baton. To the players amazement my ex did a splendid job and her picture appeared in the local daily in quarter-page size. 

In Sweden where I worked as concertmaster for a year, a cello assistant principal position was available, and again an older Russian cellist from the back of the section tried out. He actually played quite well and should have won the audition but the players would not allow that to happen. Too many foreigners already, they said. The Saint-Saëns concerto was renamed Sans-Chance for him. Unlike in America, Russian musicians and Russians in general were not thought highly of in that country, at least back then.

We all know about Herbert von Karajan's desire to keep his orchestras "pure", free of women (other than a harpist who wasn't really a member). After the maestro's death the Berlin Philharmonic started admitting females; today they make a sizeable portion of the musicians. Not so in Vienna where only a few women have been allowed in, just to be denied tenure, as was the case with a Japanese male tuba player as well. Today they have a woman as one of their concertmasters, but this is widely understood as an attempt to quiet the critics of the all-male club.

Back in Los Angeles, the local chamber orchestra had frequent auditions, especially since so many musicians quit after the departure of greatly admired and beloved Sir Neville Marriner. An unknown brass player on the podium was not in the least to their liking. The concertmaster wanted me in the orchestra and so I auditioned for the principal second violin spot in his house. The conductor had secretly promised the spot to a "friend" and came up with excuses why I wasn't acceptable, mainly because he didn't like my sound. I may have my faults, but a beautiful tone is my trademark, so it was easy for anyone to see through this BS. 

The season started and behind the conductor's back the same "friend" went to the board and said that he himself would make a better leader for the group. Although he was probably right (at least he knew something about string playing), someone leaked this information and the poor fellow with high ambitions was out immediately. By now my sound had improved dramatically in a few weeks and I was named for the post. Not surprisingly, in the first rehearsal I ended up having an argument with the stick-man as he was forcing some idiotic bowings on us in Bach. 

During another audition where I was one of the listeners, there was a man from Alaska who simply didn't know the basics of violin playing. America is a free country and everyone can try, right? We held back tears from amusement and one of us ended up under a coffee table. The concertmaster wanted to bring in an old friend of his, a man that had been a good fiddle player at some point but no longer could play; not an uncommon scenario. The audition started by the concertmaster saying Joe, tell us about your instrument! That was a dead giveaway of what we were going to hear and obviously the man didn't join our ranks.

Conductors try to use their influence and choose their favorites, no matter what the audition committee thinks. I remember a case where a double bass player, who had been kicked out of another group, had been promised a job. He had been placed in the finals but didn't get enough votes to be eligible. The conductor's face turned beet-red from anger. Another opening came but this time rules had been changed so that if someone had been advanced to the finals without going through an earlier round, everyone had to play behind a screen. After hours of listening to the soothing sounds of the double bass, a vote was taken after a discussion. The conductor made clear who his favorite was and this person was elected. This time the maestro's face turned white when the winner was introduced: instead of his old pal, a young skinny woman was brought out.

Years ago it was common that the conductor could have "inside" auditions and move a person from the second violins to the firsts, or to name them as principals. Although he could make such a decision all by himself, usually a maestro had others listening and solicited their opinion. Only when such advice went contrary to his wishes, a second, private audition was held, to justify a move. Today's orchestras are smarter and everyone has to compete. That doesn't automatically mean that the best candidates win, as there are orchestras where half of the concertmasters family has "won" auditions or a girlfriend is chosen over a more capable player. Many East Coast orchestras have numerous such stories.

More on the actually stupid way musicians are elected through the audition process will follow later.

Parents Living Lives Through Children

My wife Marjorie and I have a lot of things in common, but perhaps one fact stands out more than anything: we probably wouldn't have ended up in the field of music had we not had an obsessed parent. In her case she didn't have much choice as her mother was determined to make her a great violinist. My father didn't have such power over me, but I liked to be able to please him. He would spend eight nights a week, to loosely quote the Beatles, listening to me practice and take out his violin whenever I felt like playing duos with him (which was almost daily). One thing led to another and I became a violinist although my true calling would have been elsewhere. It is no wonder that our children, although well trained in music and most gifted in it, were never encouraged to think of it as a profession. We want them to be happy and successful in life and yet appreciate and love music, something a professional musician doesn't necessarily do, no matter what they claim.

Over the years and decades it has been interesting to watch the dynamics between a parent and a child. It can vary from not caring or understanding at all, to being quite supportive, and all the way to being the main force behind a child's "interest". The latter is mainly a mother-daughter situation although I've had my share of nutty fathers as well. One had read a book on Paganini's life and after that would lock his son in his room for 8-12 hours, expecting to hear non-stop practicing and ending up with a great virtuoso in a couple years. I think (or hope) that the boy learned the old trick of recording his practicing and then playing it back while doing something more useful or fun. It worked with my father during the weekends when he expected me to forego all the playtime with friends. I had a reel-to-reel tape recorder with the longest available tape ready. With the 9.5 cm/sec speed it gave me an ample opportunity to leave the house, yet keep the old man happy. I was into high fidelity recording early on and had great equipment, so there was no way he could tell the difference between the real thing and my recording. I was finally caught when Dad was enthusiastically listening to my practicing behind the door and I walked in from the outside at the same time.

But those Übermothers and their daughters… I love seeing a healthy loving relationship, with support not only in music but in other areas as well. As parents drive their younger children to lessons, it is natural for them to stay and listen, unless they live close enough or prefer doing errands during that time. Usually when the teenager gets a driving license they start showing up on their own, a healthy sign, although I'm not always at easy with a thought of a 16-year-old navigating through traffic by herself. However, I dread mothers who show up with daughters plenty old enough to be on their own, writing notes or behaving like they are taking the lesson instead of their offspring. Often these mothers are musicians of some sort themselves, and can think of nothing better for their daughters than to follow in their footsteps, hopefully achieving something the parent wasn't capable of. Given the fact that these parents should be aware of how glum the employment prospects in the field are nowadays for new graduates, it never ceases to amaze me why they don't see the whole picture. Musical talent often skips a generation or two and even if the youngster is capable of learning the skill well, it might not be the job that would keep her/him happy. 

I grew up among music lovers and very capable individuals who loved music above all but did something else for living. There were doctors, dentists, judges, heads of big corporations, even priests, you name it. My own dentist was a very decent cellist and horn player who free-lanced almost every night. My father had been close friends with his violinist father, also a dentist and the nicest man. Even people in the professional orchestras had jobs on the side. One of my favorites, the solo oboe of what became the Helsinki Philharmonic, was a beekeeper and sold a lot of honey. His specialty was packing it in tubes: I always got one when he came over to play in my dad's orchestra. We may well be heading back to that direction again, not necessarily a bad idea, as it would be an affordable option in today's world.

Of course mothers who live through their daughters interfere with every aspect of the girl's life. Many are very active in the school's PTA and befriend teachers, to assure good grades and preferential treatment. They also get involved in school and youth orchestras, putting pressure on the conductors to use their "younger sisters" as soloists and get placed in the front of a section. Some even follow their daughters to college, relocating in a city near the school, sometimes even leaving their husbands behind. These young ladies are going to have a heck of a time getting used to reality when they finally are forced to face it. They may get married and even have a child, but their parent will become a mother-in-law from hell. I remember touring with a great talent who shall remain nameless. She played fabulously but even during rehearsals her mother sat with the baby in the hall. The husband was nowhere to be seen. A remarkable violinist, her name has disappeared from the headlines. Perhaps she learned to abhor the life her mother had designed for her, not an uncommon scenario. Another one was a rather famous name as a Wunderkind and earned a lot of money in soloist fees. After turning 18 she wanted to have access to her account, in order to buy a car. But darling, there were all kinds of expenses… In other words, all the money had been spent, her account depleted. The daughter put away the violin, only to dig it up a decade or two later in order to eke out a living as a free-lance violinist.

To many parents it seems a natural thing to live a new life through their children. It does, in most cases, destroy the growing experience for the child, and the future will likely not be as rosy as the mother or father had envisioned. We as parents believe in what our 22-year-old calls "hand-off care". Our daughters know that they have our love and support, but also that they are expected to be responsible for their actions, mistakes and successes. So far we have reason to be nothing but proud. Something in our philosophy must be correct. And yes, they love us in return and will continue to do so; I have no doubts about it.

Photo © Richard Walker/ImageNorth

Neuro

There are Americans who want to kick Arizona out of the Union because of the racial profiling law, requiring all non-citizens to carry valid immigration documents on them at all times. Clearly this is aimed at the Latino population, many of whom have crossed the border illegally at some point in time but most of whom are legal and lawful citizens or residents. Many see the similarity of a Jew having to exhibit a Star of David during the Nazi era. Yes, crime on the Mexican side is horrendous and cruel, but where do the drug dealers buy all their deadly weapons?  Arizona is not the only state despised by more tolerant neighbors in the North: many would also like to see Texas returned to Mexico. Too bad they have all that oil...

The European Union also has member countries that others would rather see disappear. The financial messes in Greece, Portugal, Spain and Ireland are threatening the very existence of the Union. Well-to-do countries, especially Germany, don't want to pay for these countries' debts, a result of living beyond their means. The Euro had all of a sudden become the Neuro, a very nervous currency. How did all this happen?

Greece has a long history of corruption and everyday bribes. Alexander the Great was followed by way too many Not So Greats. Although democracy may have started there, it seems like today's Greek can't handle it. True democracy in European style doesn't differ much from true Socialism. And a socialist state often demands too much from its people to be successful. The Greeks are not comfortable with the idea that the benefits and a certain lifestyle might not be sustainable in today's economy. Demonstrations in that country are very commonplace: a travel guide warns tourists to be prepared for sudden strikes without warning. But going to the barricades too many times is like the story of the boy who cried wolf: after a while nobody takes you seriously.

I have followed the story mainly through European news sources, especially after learning that a dirty American GS, Goldman Sachs, helped the Greek government to hide billions in loans from the watchful eyes of the EU regulators. The Germans are very upset and it is understandable, since they are the richest member of the Union and thus bear the greatest responsibility of bailing out the nearly-bankrupt nation of Greece, perhaps to be followed by the same scenario in Portugal and - gasp - Spain. For two decades Germany has been bleeding money from its Western parts to the East, as the reunification didn't go as smoothly as it should have. On paper East Germany was better off than other Iron Curtain countries but nobody really knew how vastly different the economies were. Now Germany has a new Eastern part in Greece. Although every politician admits urgent help is very necessary, the idea of aid of such magnitude is wildly unpopular. Not that many people believe any longer in the Euro; many miss the good old Deutsche Mark. A lot of Europeans would like see the entire Union disappear and a return to the old times. Or keep the EU, kick out the poor countries that are draining its coffers. The Scandinavian viewpoint is less emotional and, outside of Finland, the countries are not part of the Euro zone. Norway, of course, is not a member of the Union, either, probably because they'd have nothing to gain from it. With all that oil and less than 5 million people, they would be paying dearly for other countries' mistakes. The British seem almost delighted that there are other member countries where the mess is even worse than at home.

It is a long way from the post-war European Coal and Steel Community, and later the Common Market or EEC, to the present EU. Harsh realities of today would not encourage the kind of ideological dreaming common decades ago and giving birth to the Union would not happen, or it would be a marriage of a few chosen ones. I remember when Finland joined the EU in 1995 (and the Euro zone four years later), there were many skeptics. The farmer near our summer home went mad and claimed that the Union was going to steal his land and make him go broke. He barricaded the road to the area's summer homes with huge pails of hay, with anti-EU slogans, and a new road had to be built through a forest in a hurry. Later he went completely insane and ended up taking his hunting rifle and pointing it to his own head, instead of a moose. His son was old enough to take over, but everyone still uses the new road. Perhaps this poor chap's fears were well-founded: the EU destroyed his life, even if indirectly.

If Greece and those other countries has their own currencies, an easy way out would be devaluing their monetary unit. That took place in Finland a few times: I was studying in this country and all of a sudden my monthly stipend was worth a lot less. When our financial world collapsed a year and half ago, little Iceland suffered horribly but was able to devalue its Króna by 50%. No more McDonald's in Reykjavik but instead a lot of new tourists who for the first time could afford to visit this previously too expensive country. Being tied to the Euro also ties a country's hands and fiscal problems have to be approached very differently and with a lot of outside help.

Tomorrow is May Day, a global Labor Day, except this is not for shopping purposes like here but actually for the working class. In Northern Europe it is also a special day for students, who show up in their traditional student caps. The latter may look silly, but every Finn at least is proud to wear one, a proof of completing a thorough school education and the rigorous tests required. Back in my youth this was the first time during the year when ice-cream kiosks opened up and buying a helium balloon from a vendor was a necessity. Special fermented drink was made for the day and strange hard baked goodies, dipped in powdered sugar, were served. They resembled 20-30 deep-fried worms tangled in a ball! The Social Democrats and the People's Democrats (aka Communists) had their separate outdoor speaking events and parades, but I would only observe those from a safe distance. Times were hard and very different, so in that context it all made perfect sense.

This year the holiday might have special meaning in many places in Europe. Mayday is of course also the common distress call signal, used in maritime accidents and in aviation. It is a phonetic rendering of m'aidez or help me in French. In Athens the day might be called βοηθήστε με, at least for this year.

illustration of Neuro by talvi

Mother Earth's Party

Two days ago, on April 22nd, we celebrated Earth Day. This writing was supposed to be published then but the family was grappling with either a  noro- or rotavirus. Both are teeny tiny pathogens that are far too small to be seen with an optical microscope but which behave in a bullish and nasty manner.

Not only was it Mother Earth's Day: it has been her Month and Year as well. Eastern North America and Europe have had a record cold winter; we here in the Pacific NW have enjoyed the warmest one in many decades. Earthquakes have happened unusually often, including a catastrophic one in Haiti and one of the strongest ever recorded in Southern Chile. Mother Earth then decided it was time for some fireworks and lit a Roman candle in the faraway nation of Iceland. The eruption under the Eyjafjallajökull glacier wasn't a gigantic one but managed to melt enough ice and snow to cause dangerous flooding and the closure of Iceland's Route No. 1, a highway that circles the beautiful island. It did, however, cough up quite a bit a volcanic ash which with the prevailing winds traveled to Northern and Central Europe, effectively closing all air travel. Tens of thousands of tourists and other travelers were stuck for many days, unable to get back home. Ironically Iceland's main airport in Keflavik remained open until a couple days ago as the wind blew all the ash elsewhere. Sky at night turned green over there as the photo shows.

Europe is relatively small and has an excellent system of trains, highways and ferries where smaller bodies of water need to be crossed. However, train tickets were sold out in record time, same with car rentals. In most cases people just had to wait. It is no longer really a possibility to cross an ocean on a ship, unfortunately. We have become a world far too dependent on the airplane. Hotels saw an opportunity to make money in otherwise suffering economy. Some did triple their daily rates in places like London. The famed British comedian John Cleese was stuck in Oslo, Norway, and couldn't find transportation back to the continent. Supposedly he came up with a brilliant idea and hired a taxi to take him to Brussels in Belgium. Since Skåne, Southern Sweden, is connected to Denmark with a bridge/tunnel combination, he and the driver didn't even have to worry about overcrowded ferries. The fee I saw mentioned was over €3,000, about $5,400 in U.S. currency. Oslo is pretty far, so we are not talking a nice little ride in the neighborhood.

Although volcanic ash is very dangerous to jet airplanes, melting into glass by the heat and possibly acting as a sandblaster, damaging not only delicate mechanical parts but also the windshield to the point that the pilot will not be able to see. In the past, at least during three recorded incidents jumbo planes had all their engines shut down after flying into a a cloud of ash, becoming overweight gliders with no airport within range. In each case a rapid descent to clean air enabled restarting some of the engines and made it possible for the planes to limp to safety, instead of an emergency landing on an ocean. Since the ash has no water content and the particles are tiny, ordinary radars don't pick them up and at nighttime there is no way of seeing such a cloud. Europeans had a good reason to err on the side of caution and close the airspace. Attached is a picture of a Finnish F-18 fighter jet with glass deposit damage on its engine, after a training mission in Lapland. This was before anyone was alerted of the danger approaching. The airspace over Northern Scandinavia was promptly closed, quickly followed by much of Europe. The flying ban has been widely criticized as overly cautious, but at least in my opinion it was better to play it safe than have lives in danger, literally.

The ash itself differs in its silicate content. The higher its concentration is, the lower the melting point and thus the more dangerous it becomes to jet engines. Luckily the Icelandic ash has less silicate that volcanoes in the Andes or Western North America, such as Mount St. Helens. Eyjafjallajökull's ash requires a temperature of over 1,200°C (2,200°F) for glass to form, whereas the American type and that from Pinatubo in the Philippines melts at less that 1,000°C (1,800°F), making it particularly dangerous for jet engines at cruising altitudes. Generally speaking the engines become hot enough for the Icelandic ash to form glass only during take-off.

Iceland may have another trick up its sleeve. In recorded history for 1,100 years or so, this volcano's eruptions have been followed by bigger ones from nearby Katla. That would teach the world that the little island-country can indeed be a major factor in global affairs. Of course we have to deal directly with Mother Nature, not the country's government. She makes all terror attacks and wars seem like small potatoes. Yes, there is a humbling lesson to be learned from this: we the humans really don't rule the world after all. Icelanders know Earth's power better than any of us. The eruption of the Laki fissure 1783-84 killed a quarter of the island's population and over a half of its domestic animals. Most died from fluoride poisoning, the result of breathing a deadly mixture of sulfur-dioxide and hydrofluoric acid gas. At least the enamel on their teeth became strong! The eruption had global consequences, causing sunlight to disappear in Europe and widespread famine. Some claim that the French Revolution was partially caused by the social unrest resulting from the events. In North America temperatures dropped by ten degrees and during the winter of 1784 the Mississippi river froze all the way down to New Orleans; part of the Gulf of Mexico was covered with ice as well.

When the two recent earthquakes in this hemisphere happened, experts pointed out global locations where the real big ones could take place. Southern Andes, Alaska, Kamchatka, Indonesia and our own Cascades are all waiting for nine-point-something quake to happen. The one in Haiti would not have done much damage in a modern Western city: the quake in Chile was 500 times more powerful. California's earthquakes are frequent but relatively small. Our home town, Seattle, faces a few catastrophic scenarios. I look at the 4,392-meter-high Mount Rainier daily and often wonder when it might decide to become active again. The last minor eruption was in the early 1800s and it has been a millennium since the last big one. Last year a volcano awakened in the Russian Far East after slumbering for 2,000 years, so what seem like an eternity to us is but a few seconds in Earth's history. Our mountain has so much ice and snow on it that mudflow resulting from an eruption would cause havoc in a large densely populated area. It could also upset the balance with the continental plates deep underground and trigger a massive earthquake. The latter could also happen without any help from Mt. Rainier, of course. The low-lying communities around the Puget Sound are also vulnerable to a tsunami. I sleep better knowing that we are too high up for such a wave to reach us. Any of these scenarios would totally paralyze the greater Seattle area and cause destruction of never-seen-before magnitude, at least for an American city.

It is fitting that this year's Earth Day was celebrated by Seattle's garbage collectors starting their strike.

Northern Lights at Eyjafjallajökull © Reuters
Damage to F-18 Hornet © Finnish Defense Forces

Golden Age for Conductors

Never in my lifetime have so many jobs for orchestra conductors been available at the same time. A maestro here and there has either passed away, is very ill or has retired for various reasons. There is such a shortage of capable conductors, with some name recognition and good reputation, that many of them have taken more than one orchestra under their wing. Yesterday we learned about Edo de Waart accepting a post in Antwerp, in addition to his present gig in Milwaukee. In his case this might have been a pre-emptive, calculated move, as the Belgian city will make sure its orchestra will exist, no matter how difficult times become. Milwaukee, on the other hand, suffers from the same ailments all American orchestras in this Capitalist system do. The former MD in that orchestra, Andreas Delfs, best known for his work with European youth orchestras, had also taken a second position in Honolulu. That obviously wasn't the smartest of moves as that group presently does not exist or at least doesn't function in its previous form. Mr. de Waart, a Dutch person, has also an advantage with the language: Antwerpen is in Flanders and its denizens speak a language which is almost identical to the one north of the border, in the Netherlands or Holland. My father's forefathers were Flemish Hansa merchants, so I have studied the region well.

Occasionally a well-published and much praised selection of a conductor and/or music director can go wrong. Christoph Eschenbach, a German conductor and a great musician, had a very successful tenure in Houston, but in Philadelphia matters were different. Relationship with both the orchestra and the city's critics turned less than amicable. As a result the orchestra has been without leadership, sailing without a rudder from one crisis to the next. Since the group was regarded at one time as one of the best in the world, it is difficult to comprehend why Philadephia is having such difficulty in finding a new leader. Another "marriage made in heaven", between James Levine and the Boston Symphony, has turned into a messy affair, mainly because of Mr. Levine's ailing health. Instead of being a presence in the local scene, he is seldom seen in the city as he has had to cancel most of his scheduled concerts this year, too. Mr. Levine has tried to assure us he'll be good as new after yet another operation; I am not the only one who doesn't buy this. Luciano Pavarotti kept on insisting he was going to beat his pancreatic cancer, yet a person with any medical training knew how slim his chances were, even to live for a couple years. Yes, Mr. Levine has also had cancer, although in a location where the prognosis isn't as grim, but his issues with back pain are serious, especially for a conductor. Back operations are often promoted by surgeons as using the knife makes them rich, but the outcomes seldom are what the patients envisioned. In Sweden some years ago a comparative study was done between two groups of patients with severe back pain. One group was operated on (Sweden has generally excellent hospital and the Karolinska Institutet is among the top globally speaking), the other received only physical therapy but long-term. The study concluded that the surgically treated patients fared worse at the end. Many in the other group would no doubt have undergone surgery here, yet with intense physical therapy they were able to return to work and normal life. Mr. Levine is quite heavy which cannot be helpful in his situations. He also has conducted sitting down for such a long time that his spine must have adopted an unnatural curve as a result. Not only do I see him saying his farewells to Boston, I also think that his days in the pit of the Metropolitan Opera are numbered. But he has had such a long career: isn't it time to retire and do something more enjoyable and less physically taxing? I'm sure he could manage to teach future conductors on the side a few hours a week. This would be a blessing as there is such a shortage of such teachers who know what they are doing.

If James Levine were to leave the Met or cut back on his work load there, the opera company would become yet another American institution looking for a musical figurehead. Conducting opera is a specialty field: one has to be an excellent accompanist as many of the vocally sensational stars on stage do not know how to count and anything can happen, yet possess strong and intelligent musical ideas of his own. Ideally a great opera conductor should be fluent in all the languages the repertoire calls for, at least Italian, German and French. A maestro barely literate in English simply won't do. A good singing voice doesn't hurt as it is an easy way to communicate with a soprano or a tenor whose English is nonexistent. Talking to them with a New Jersey accent and trying to sing but sounding like a crow with a sore throat can present problems. I'm sure Peter Gelb has his eyes open, although officially everything at the Met is on track. One thing is for sure: Leonard Slatkin won't be the next Levine after his disastrous experiment to the world of Verdi. Will Slatkin remain in Detroit? That depends on the orchestra surviving. Its members and the union are steadfast in their demands of continuing pay increases which, short of someone donating a few hundred million dollars to them, is an impossible scenario. General Motors is finally supposedly making money again. It took a trip to the land of bankruptcy and starting anew. Being an auto worker today is not what is used to be, that is for sure.

Presently just about any decent American conductor, or a foreigner with a work permit for that matter, has a  whole world of opportunities waiting. Boston, for instance, has had to hire guests to take Levine's place. Even Carlos Kalmar from the Oregon Symphony has been among those invited. The latter group may be stuck in a financial rut but at least they are all pulling together to get out. And in Mr. Kalmar they have a capable leader, a person who unites rather than tears his band apart. I would like to see them succeed, more so than a big-budget group full of self-importance. A maestro, who presently is in charge of a regional third tier group but who has the goods required, may well be discovered in no time at all as demand is at an all-time high. Yes, there must be quite a few truly talented people hiding out there. Board and search committees need to know where to look and also be brave to take a challenge, risky as it may seem at first.

I don't envy all the groups in need of leadership and financial stability. They need lots of good luck and foresight, but also to remember that the reasons for their present situation are often self-evident and should be dealt with. If an orchestra cannot afford to pay sky-high salaries to its musicians, conductors and soloists, then it shouldn't. The often-heard threat of people running to greener pastures is sheer nonsense. Did the GM workers pack their bags and move to Germany to build new Porsches and BMWs?

Carlos Kalmar, Oregon Symphony

Oom-Pah

There are times when I absolutely despise Microsoft. Not only has some bigwig there made my writing (and my wife's) invisible to their Bing search engine, I just spent a considerable amount of time creating an over a thousand word essay for my blog, using their Windows Live program. Just when I was ready to publish it, the Windows 7 computer responded with a blue screen of death, as if someone had decided the topic shouldn't go any further. Normally a program makes an automatic copy; Google certainly does and even MS Word saves something. But nothing remains of my creation. Poof! That much for the software giant's magic.

No other art form in music is as little appreciated as accompanying. Yet great accompanists are far rarer than good instrumentalists and conductors. Seemingly simple piano or orchestra parts turn out to be the hardest of all. Whether they are arias for singers or encores (a misnomer) for a violinist, some of the most beloved music falls in this category. Old man Jascha Heifetz knew this very well: in his later recitals in Los Angeles he used two pianists. The well-known pianist colleague would play the sonata with him, but when the second half came with its bonbons, the true treasures, a real expert, the seasoned accompanist with his keen ears and fast reflexes, was on stage.

Many years ago I had the honor of playing as concertmaster when perhaps the last of his breed, an old great Romanian violin virtuoso Ion Voicu, performed the Paganini D-major concerto. His playing was truly old school, with a rubato within another rubato. If performed straight without intimate knowledge of what lies behind the notation, the concerto sounds almost stupid. Knowing Mr. Voicu's age and experience, most of us knew that we were about to witness a performance from a time almost forgotten today. In spite of being up there in years, he still possessed an incredible technique and sound, and as a musician he was superb. This was the only time I had heard him live, but I had listened to numerous of his recordings since childhood. The accompaniment to the concerto is Rossini-like, silly in its simplicity and requires a conductor (or pianist if done in a recital as often was the case) capable of sensing every heartbeat of the soloist. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The South American conductor, rather well-known at the time for his operatic work, didn't see eye to eye with the violinist and the result was one of the worst collaborations I can recall. It was as if these two people came from two different worlds, even planets, and obviously there was a generation gap between them. However, none of the rubatos or little fermatas here and there, the real essence of the work, meant anything to the conductor. I felt terrible for Mr. Voicu. If there had been no one on the podium, enough people knew the concerto and by listening to the soloist the accompaniment would have been far more successful. Ion Voicu died not long after this performance; I always wondered if we managed to shorten his life.

used by permission, VoiceActing LLC
http://voiceacting.com

I read with an interest a rather awful review in this morning's New York Times. The paper's critic Anthony Tommasini titled it In Revival Of Verdi, A New Note Of Drama, and goes on to claim that the conductor of Met's La Traviata, Leonard Slatkin, did not fully know the score. Reading the article, I felt like I was following a report of an unbalanced women's hockey match in the Vancouver Olympics, with a final score of 30-2. Mr. Slatkin is, of course, best known as a champion of American music. The writer does explain that Slatkin was initially hired to conduct a contemporary opera by John Corigliano, something more likely in his territory. Financial reasons made the Met change their schedule and thus the conductor ended up with the Verdi war horse. Interestingly, I remember having similar trouble with another not-to-be-named conductor whose claim to fame also was American music. A simple, yet difficult, oom-pah was too much for him to toss off as well. For a younger conductor such a review would mean an end to a career. Mr. Slatkin has been suffering from heart problems and his present job with the Detroit Symphony cannot be easy as the orchestra is facing a financial nightmare. Perhaps this all will encourage him to retire earlier and gain some meaningful years as a pedagogue or just enjoying life. Fame isn't everything. Besides, the day you are gone, you are also forgotten.

I routinely try to give my students repertoire which is not often done here, by composers such as Jean Martinon, Karen Khachaturian (Aram's nephew), Jules Conus, Josef Suk and my Finnish countrymen. A number of students are presently working on Suk's Four Pieces Op. 18. I was first introduced to them by recordings of the great French violinist Ginette Neveu. The second one is titled Appasionato and in it violin and piano play a chase, sort of like in the Scherzo of Beethoven's Spring Sonata. Both instruments have the same figure but an eighth apart. I have performed the works too many times to count. Once I played them in the capital of Lapland, Rovaniemi, on the shortest day of the year. My pianist was a famed Finnish accompanist Pentti Koskimies. For some reason something snapped in his mind and every time when this figure came up (they are many), he insisted on playing in unison with me. Luckily I knew the piece well and didn't blink an eye. Afterwards the face of my pianist was beet red and he kept on apologizing. I'm only telling this story to remind readers of the fact that even the most seasoned artist can have an off-day.

Otherwise it was interesting to be on the Arctic Circle at that time of the year. Exactly at noon the sun, a fiery red ball, climbed to the horizon at the end of a long street running North-South, just to disappear moments later. The next morning we drove to the airport in -35° C weather (about -30° F). The Northern Lights danced across the sky in a fascinating manner. The only negative memory of the recital was the hall itself. Designed by the famous architect Alvar Aalto, it is sort a miniature version of Helsinki's Finlandia Hall, and acoustically both leave a lot to be desired. The building in Helsinki was never intended to be used for music but to be a hall for conferences and such. The 1975 Helsinki Accords, Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe, was held there. Helsinki sorely lacks a decent concert hall and the Finns are presently building one, calling it the Music House. One can only know if the acoustics work out after the building is finished. Too often a concert hall is talked up to be something it is not. Sooner or later people start listening with their own ears and come to their own conclusions. Finland has good halls but they are smaller and away from the capital.

During this Passover let us not only remember and honor the freedom the Hebrews were able to achieve long time ago, but also give special credit the musical underdog, the small but mighty oom-pah.

Toothless Tigers and the Constitution

A lame duck is an interesting term. Originally used in the stock market scene, it today describes someone who is about to leave his once-powerful position. Usually this is a political one but can also mean a departing head of an organization, such as a music director of an orchestra. The dictionary also gives us this explanation: one that is weak or that falls behind in ability or achievement (Merriam–Webster). Often it is difficult to see the difference between the last meaning and the usual one.

Relatively recently we witnessed a rather sad era when George W. Bush was at the end of his presidency and the financial world was collapsing around him. GWB was of course chosen by his party as a folksy figurehead as he tended to be well-liked by ordinary people and even by the media. The real power behind the White House was in the hands of his VP Dick Cheney, who perceived himself above all laws, including the Constitution. Toward the end of second term of Bush–Cheney, the President finally understood (or was made to see) how he had been used like a pawn and put his foot down, causing a rift beyond repair. Cheney, all of a sudden, was like a mighty tiger whose teeth had been pulled out and who had been declawed in the process. Gradually, lawlessness began to disappear and Bush tried to clean up some of the mess caused by his second-in-command. The economic disaster couldn’t be helped and it became a big headache for President Obama as well as for the rest of the world. However, the presidency was named after George W. Bush and history cannot treat his eight years in office with kindness.

Some years ago this blog and that of my spouse, Magic Moments, suddenly disappeared from all search engines. Clearly certain influential people wanted to silence us. I was mainly interested in Google as it is the search engine for most of us. A Bing is a Ding in value and I can’t remember the last time I used Yahoo’s search. I was told by someone in an expert position that someone with a lot of “pull” was behind this. Only after a publication sent an inquiry to Google with their questions  regarding us, our posts became searchable again. This morning I was reading news about Google redirecting their search service from Mainland China to Hong Kong, and this old issue resurfaced in my mind. A quick check on Bing and Yahoo made us not exist at all, or an ugly story about one of us was provided as a link. Clearly this was the case with Google, too, at one point but they came to respect one’s First Amendment rights. Does a financially broke organization or a law firm Beavis and Butthead’s Remains have that much clout? I doubt it. At one time a filter was activated and since no one seemed to care, it remained.

This city has almost no art coverage. I’ve been told of a sort of Blob where dismissed old ladies and their kind write online entries for money. You support them and get a glowing review in return. A community orchestra in a suburb of a suburb is “magic”. Magic will be needed for it to stay in business! Of course Dong has this blob service listed over and over again. I didn’t even bother to see what Boohoo does. If America prides itself with freedom of speech and expression, this all is in gross violation. I have even been given names of people responsible for silencing us but would not rather repeat them here as they would no doubt sue us. Although we are living comfortably, I don’t want to get into a legal battle with filthy rich characters with equally filthy sense of moral values.

A healthy art scene needs a transfusion of  fresh new blood every so often, as if it by nature suffers from anemia or some other similar disease. Without this healthy blood an organization begins to suffer and will soon be fighting for its life. It is a given that chief conductors, in this country called music directors, stay only a few years and then go elsewhere. This transfusion works  both ways and is essential to the artistic health of the individuals as well. Ideally, also musicians should not be stuck in one place but switch orchestras, just like actors and actresses go from one city and theater to another elsewhere. Who really wants to see only the same faces year after year and hear the same speaking, singing or instrumental voice time after time?  This is also true with soloists: one doesn’t usually perform in the same city more than once a year, unless it is your home town and big enough to offer multiple outlets; Itzakh Perlman in New York is a prime example, Isaac Stern before him. It is unheard of having one soloist perform with a major orchestra twice in a season, unless one is a singer in a secondary role, such as in Handel’s Messiah and Beethoven’s Ninth. Orchestra musicians also like to see fresh faces which is the reason for their desire to tour. Taking a bus to a neighboring town doesn’t qualify as such and crossing a river is not really going overseas. Unfortunately traveling is happening less and less frequently as the institutions are hemorrhaging financially. Touring with a smaller ensemble (chamber or classical orchestra) obviously is much less of a burden and thus more realistic to accomplish.

In some cities people in charge have far overstayed their welcome, and the health of the organization they are responsible for has worsened to the point of approaching death. Even if some old-time diehards manage to donate enough money for the group to limp along on life support, artistically it has one foot in the grave. Such people have for years been lame ducks in the sense that they’ve fallen back in ability and haven’t been a source of inspiration, to either the musicians or audiences in case of an orchestra. Those who continuously attend performances either have nothing better to do, or think that showing up is expected of them in their social circle. Eventually these quacks, the ducks, become truly lame: a once mighty cobra loses its fangs, a pitiful sight indeed, and is in danger of starving. Perhaps a collector of snakes would show mercy, take in the serpent as a new member of a reptile retirement home and have it fed a dead mouse or other small animal patiently by hand.

Bush Jr. had his Cheney and I sometimes wonder who truly has been behind all the often horrendous actions taken by these now lame quackers (check out definition #1). Is the now toothless tiger or fangless snake really the monster himself, or are there other forces involved, perhaps family members, strange friends, collectors or rich donors? Whatever, let them all go away. As people said to our former President: good-bye and good riddance.

Once a person no longer can harm his subjects, he indeed becomes powerless and an object of ridicule. It is easy to picture what Hans Christian Andersen had in mind when he wrote his famous tale Emperor’s New Clothes. As the fat despot, fallen victim to two swindlers, was parading in the nude,  it took a child to expose how laughable he looked with his fat belly. Even his masculine tool, which had frightened and ruined the lives of many young maidens, all of a sudden looked like dried fruit. Nothing would ever be the same for him. But that was how it should have ended; wasn’t that the moral of the story?

in illustration: a toothless tiger, red blood cells

Orchester, Oркестр & Ορχήστρα

For now, let us leave the bleeding American orchestras alone in their misery and look at what of interest is happening elsewhere.

Herbert von Karajan was a male chauvinist, no one can deny that, and during his long reign the Berlin Philharmonic was a men-only club. In the Teutonic culture this was not unusual. When there was an opening in an orchestra in German-speaking countries, the ad would clearly state is it was for a man (Geiger), usually in the first 4 stands, or if a woman could also be considered (Geigerin). The few women who appeared as soloist with the Berlin orchestra were expected to "behave" properly. Today's hip-gyrating babes would have been banned. Karajan's prodigy Anne-Sophie Mutter looks like a porcelain doll in video recordings with the maestro and his band, with absolutely no facial expression, as an ideal German Fräulein should.

Even Karajan couldn't live forever and since then the Philharmoniker has had to admit numerous females into the group. A year ago I was still regularly watching their concerts transmitted over the web. Although the general level of playing was always high, the orchestra sounded pretty much the same, sort of Wurst und Bier, no matter who was on the podium. The cameras focused on the same people and I soon noticed how many of the string players were slackers, playing over the fingerboard and thus not contributing much to the overall sound. I hate to admit this but it seemed to me that a good portion of these musicians were female. Perhaps it was a cultural thing: women were not supposed to play like men. Before you readers react, let me assure you that I am 100% pro-women. Listening to late Ginette Neveu's recordings it doesn't take long to realize that her playing is more "masculine" (in a good sense) than that of most of her male colleagues.

Österreich or Austria is another story.  Vienna, for many the capital of music, used to have an uneasy mix of Jews and Gentiles. Fritz Kreisler, although raised as a Catholic, couldn’t get a position with the Opera Orchestra, also known as the Philharmonic. During an interview late in his life, he said that had they accepted him, he might still be there playing in the pit. Although the Nazi party was outlawed, its sympathizers controlled musical life long after the war, especially in Salzburg. The Vienna Philharmonic, consisting of chosen members of the orchestra of the Vienna State Opera, was strictly all white male until 1997 when their harpist for 26 years, Anna Lelkes, was admitted as a member. This was done just prior to a U.S. tour and was a result of an uncomfortable newspaper article questioning the orchestra’s sexism. Until that time only her hands had been seen on widely watched New Year’s concerts and she was never present in the ensemble’s photographs. Ms. Lelkes retired soon afterwards in 2000.

The orchestra’s tour to the U.K. this year was the cause for another article, this time in the Independent, about the sensitive fact that only three percent of the members are female and none are non-white. A small number females have been accepted into the orchestra during the last decade, just to be fired later on. A woman was appointed as concertmistress in 2008, soon after the only one outside the string section, an oboist, was fired. Many saw this move as political, intended to quiet critics. The orchestra had a Japanese tuba player but he was fired in 2003 before his trial period was over. This in spite of the Philharmonic’s Chairman stating that Mr. Sugiyama was perhaps one of the best in the world in his field.

Let's go next to Russia, although this story involves us Americans. The Moscow State Radio Symphony Orchestra is on a tour of the U.S. and Daniel Wakin wrote an interesting article in the N.Y. Times about the low pay and substandard accommodations the musicians are stuck with. Other publications and web sites soon joined in. Yes, $40 a concert seems like a little and sharing a room in a motel may not be what some American musicians consider adequate. However, many of us work for that amount or even less, sometimes even for minimum wage. Every tour I did with the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra involved long bus rides and one could only get a private room by paying the difference. Another orchestra, which shall remain unnamed, offered single rooms but paid the musicians more if they agreed to double up. Isn’t this just another way of making one pay for privacy? The same people eager to complain about the Muscovites'  low pay would no doubt rather buy piece of clothing, coming from a foreign sweatshop, for less money than what an American-made one would cost.

For those Russian musicians the $40 fee may be a lot;  they also get an opportunity to travel overseas and perform for audiences other than their usual crowd. Surely they all would love to stay in a five-star hotel and be paid $500 a night, plus a hefty per diem. But with that price tag, would they be invited to visit here? Of course not. For that much money you could instead get one of the two famous orchestras mentioned above. I don’t think people are dying to hear the rather unknown Russian group, no matter how well they play. I toured a couple times with  the great Helmuth Rilling and his  fabulous Gächinger Kantorei. Unless I remember incorrectly, every one of those singers took a month off from work and personally paid for all their expenses, airfare and all.

Now I’m off to yet another country with funny-looking alphabet. Greece has been lately in the news frequently, especially on the other side of the Atlantic. Its financial problems threaten the stability of the Euro and if Greece can’t keep up with its obligations, Spain, Ireland, Portugal and others might well follow in the wake of its collapse. In the true Balkan style, Greek people are used to corruption and strong unions; sometimes it is difficult to tell which is which. I read with some amusement how many professions over there are considered so dangerous that early retirement is encouraged, if not required. People in our military retire early, but how about hairdressers because of the chemicals they have to handle? What about people in the media who have to hold microphones which might be contaminated with dangerous microbes? With that logic any profession which requires turning door handles would qualify. My favorite hazardous profession is playing a wind instrument. Those poor musicians “must contend with gastric reflux as they puff and blow”, according to the NY Times.

Now I understand why so many of those musicians are so sour, with all that acid backing up. As they get older, reflexes are replaced by refluxes! Conducting might also be dangerous as a baton wielder’s blood pressure could easily rise, increasing the risk of a stroke (we wish). And all that yelling at the orchestra members must be harmful to his vocal cords. While we are making these colleagues retire, let us not forget the hazards a Concert-Mistress might face daily: those tight Wonderbras cannot possibly be harmless and the spike-heel shoes must be a torture to wear every day but mandatory in the job. I can’t fathom how anyone over 40 could continue under the circumstances.

in pictures: Johann Strauss
ancient Greek wind player

Snakes in Paradise

Probably the Bible is to blame for our fear of snakes. Satan, as the Tempter, took the form of a serpent and convinced Eve to take a bite of the forbidden fruit, soon to be followed by Adam.  As a result G-d banished them and the human race from Paradise. Even people who haven’t bothered to study the Bible know this legend, along with the stories of Noah’s Ark and the great flood, and Jonah in the whale’s belly.  Granted, many of these carnivorous reptiles are poisonous or can kill an animal bigger than a man by constriction. However, attacks on humans by snakes are quite rare and usually done in self-defense, while threatened.

Close to the cottage where I spent all my childhood summers was a nest of adders, the only poisonous snakes in Finland. Once in a while one would venture to our property and I could never quite understand why my father rushed to kill it. I watched them slither in fascination, keeping a safe distance. I soon learned that the only way a person would be bitten was to accidentally step on one or near its head. Snakes are very sensitive to vibrations and easily sense when people or large animals approach. Usually they rush into hiding. I would often go with my parents, especially with my mother, deep into the woods, to collect berries or wild mushrooms; wearing rubber boots was a no-brainer. One time we returned to the summer home after a week’s absence and a viper had shed its skin right on the table on our deck. I was truly amazed by the beauty of the scales and it didn’t bother me that we were soon eating dinner exactly where the snake had spent probably days going through its molting.

The idea of serpents attacking people and causing mass hysteria has been used over and over again in books and movies.  Terrible films such Snakes on a Plane and numerous primitive low budget series for television don’t do justice to these remarkable creatures. Their slithering is an amazing form of moving about, many species being able to climb trees using the same motion, not to mention swimming at high speeds. Harmful rodents are a delicious dinner to many, as are other snakes. Of the poisonous varieties, all have different neurotoxins. Obviously a snake needs to be immune to its own lethal cocktail, yet it has to be able to kill or at least paralyze another one of its cousin. Fast food is not on a snake’s menu. As it lacks the teeth to chew or tear into the flesh, its mouth and digestive tract has to expand and stretch enormously when needed. A snake eating another one practically its own size will take a long time. One end has been digested and is on its way out when the other is still waiting to be swallowed.

It is the human form of these serpents that I find more toxic and dangerous than the real ones. I have had my share of them during my lifetime. They have varied in size, origin and toxicity. Some have appeared in pairs: Easter European Viperoff and its Western counterpart Adderall come first to mind. Western Rattlesnake and a Burmese Python (digesting a Florida alligator),  Dendroaspis polylepis alias Black Mamba and its partner Israeli Robotic Snake are other examples. The latter is not a live snake, but since it has no feelings, it qualifies. Not entirely a snake, there was a Fang in one workplace driving people crazy. Another little pesky serpent with a Napoleon complex, a Meek Puff Adder, has last been seen on the East Coast. Down Under they have more poisonous snakes that on any other continent, however my encounters with Australian human legless reptiles are limited. Perhaps they are doomed to fail outside of their home territory.

Snakes and their toxins are a treasure chest for pharmaceutical research. Decades ago anyone traveling to the Soviet Union from my home country had trouble finding merchandise to buy. They all brought back snake ointment, Viprosal, made in part from a viper and supposedly quite effective for treating pain. Recently, I found an article about Cobra venom in the Time Magazine, being used to treat cancer pain. With some research I discovered that the substance has been used for centuries in China and other Asian countries and has finally found its way to mainstream Western medicine. Supposedly 30 times stronger than morphine, it must be a gift from heaven for those who are suffering and have developed a tolerance to opioids. I was surprised to find that it is possible and legal to buy diluted Asian (Chinese) cobra venom in this country where it is sold under the name Cobroxin or Nyloxin, both as an oral spray and a topical gel. A stronger Nyloxin Rx is available by prescription only. I am the ultimate skeptic but had to try the stuff. To my amazement it seems to be effective. After the few initial uses my heart rate increased but by now there are no side effects. Pain signals are blocked quite successfully as the  treated area (with the gel) becomes numb. Best medicines have always come from nature!

I have definitely lived in this country for too long, now that I’m willingly buying snake oil, the butt of jokes. Perhaps there always was some truth to it being effective; it was the doctors who wanted to stay in business and purposely gave it a bad reputation. Another ridiculed saying, being able to sell ice cream to the Eskimos, is probably equally twisted. Why wouldn’t they enjoy it as much as you and I?

illustration by talvi