The concert last night was lovely, and today I am slowly recovering from over-indulging in too much Spanish tapas at the post-concert fun with friends.

Yesterday’s concert took place at a hall where I have frequently performed, and so I felt very comfortable with everyone there. They also know me quite well, and so they were able to provide me with a situation which was quite ideal for my own mental and personal preparations. I was also pleasantly pleased and surprised by the quality of the piano, which had vastly improved since I last performed there two years ago. However, while the piano itself had a lovely resonance and responsive action, the bench was another story. As soon as I sat down on it, it squeaked. Loudly. It also looked so rickety that I could just imagine its legs falling apart at some crucial moment. Images started to race through my mind of the audience listening to the quiet intimacy of Chopin’s nocturnes, the crystal clarity of Ravel, or the poignant solitude of Takemitsu, all intertwined with and punctuated by the squeaks from my bench. Of course, I had to change it - luckily, because I actually live in the city where the concert was taking place, I simply brought my piano bench from my house to the hall so that I could use it.

This was a very, very mild inconvenience, but it got me thinking of the numerous unforeseen situations that often surprise us and can interfere with a smooth concert experience. This can range from (all of the below have happened to me):

1. Actually getting to the hall: Bad weather conditions, travel delays or flight cancellations, terrible traffic, lost luggage (including your performance dress), literally managing to arrive at the hall itself within ten minutes of a performance, having had no time to rehearse or think straight.

2. At the hall itself: Piano in a terrible state; hall acoustics are unbearable; other performers being delayed or not able to show up in time for the concert; stage lights or some other equipment breaking down at the last minute; backstage/dressing room area doesn’t have access to a private restroom (about 15 minutes prior to the concert I had to make my way, in full dress, to the public restroom right in front of the entire 1000 + audience who was coming into the hall).

3. Physical/mental: Getting the flu, getting food poisoning or some other ailment (like an eye infection or a sprained ankle on your pedal foot), feeling mentally or physically exhausted from travel and jet lag, being upset/disturbed by the behavior of people around you, or just feeling “off” in general.

All of these things can influence the quality of a performance. Performers somehow need to be able to transcend this stress and get into a certain frame of mind in which we can still achieve the concentration and connectivity needed to perform. This involves a certain mental preparation and process that is not easy to define. Everyone - from myself to my managers to presenters and hall staff - tries as hard as possible to create optimum conditions and the right environment, but no one can control everything, and inevitably unexpected things happen.

But what is more interesting to me, is how often we can surprise ourselves. Some of my best performances have been when I was so sick with a 104 degree fever, major body aches, sneezing and coughing like crazy, playing in the worst situation imaginable. When every possible thing that could go wrong, does, it’s almost as if everything, including physical awareness, dissolves and you are only left with an amazing mental clarity and concentration that allows you to delve deeper into yourself and find new unknown sources of inspiration.

Of course, the above example is very extreme and I would not want to do this all the time because it would just kill me. But it is nice to remind ourselves that sometimes, when the unexpected happens, when we feel at our worst and that there is absolutely nothing else left for us to give, everything drops away and we are able to suddenly discover a hidden path we couldn’t see before.

Click here to view a few photos I took from the concert

I’ve recently been given a lot of food for thought by the internet. After meeting Chris Brogan on Twitter, he thoughtfully asked me how I felt social media affected or was a part of my world as a classical musician. Just as I was thinking of how best to e-mail him my thoughts on quite a complex question, Chris Foley posted an interesting question on his blog about a similar idea. I thought that maybe I could discuss my response in a post.

I certainly do not have all the answers, and can only share some of my thoughts and ideas as a performer and as someone who is starting to become better acquainted with the new media sphere. I tend to think of social media as an information tunnel. It helps me to connect with people who a) might not otherwise get to hear me play live b) want to continue the emotional excitement and connection they original felt from being at a concert. I asked a friend recently about her thoughts on this (she lives in Hawaii) - and she said that one of the reasons why she thought it was great that my videos were on YouTube, was that it allowed her to watch and hear me play even if I don’t go to Hawaii for several years to perform. The reason why I am active on certain other outlets - YouTube, Flickr, Twitter, and this blog - is for this very reason. I feel that somehow I can extend this feeling of connectivity beyond simply the concert itself. This is also the reason why I love doing any community outreach when I go somewhere to play - by just visiting with kids, or giving a master class, I feel as though I can contribute in a way that perhaps will last a little longer than a single night’s performance.

Do I think having tons of friends on MySpace or Facebook directly leads to a musician’s success? Absolutely not. I still believe, or hope, that artistic quality and not empty marketing counts in a musician’s career. Do I believe a great performance in and of itself can still be powerful enough to transform listeners and communicate something that stays with people? Absolutely, and that should still be what we as performers should aim for, what our first priority should be. The essence of music can only truly be transmitted through live performance. There was a time when live concert was the only way that we could reach people, where we could share what it is that we do; but then a technical evolution in the form of recordings came about for the very reason of extending the concert experience to a wider audience and also as a means of preserving the memory of a particular performer’s interpretation. In the same way, I think social media is doing something along the same lines - blogs to preserve a performers ideas and artistic approach, videos to preserve and spread a concert experience.

Many feel that recording technology negatively changed the way in which we play, by advocating a certain technical perfection (a result of editing), leading to thousands of homogenized music students graduating from conservatories consumed with playing all the right notes and mimicking interpretations, rather than making an original artistic statement. And in essence, I think our field’s reluctance and fear of embracing new technology stems from this previous experience - I think we are somehow afraid and wary of the consequences any new technology that encourages widespread dissemination may have on our ability to preserve and recognize quality, especially in a field as discerning as classical music. But perhaps it’s not the technology itself that we should fear, but rather our reaction to it.

Let me elaborate - There is a certain attitude and mentality towards performance itself nowadays that has concerned me, and which I have long felt musicians themselves should take more responsibility for. I have given countless master classes where students are so consumed with what it takes to get a career, how to network and get an agent, how to get concerts, etc. etc., to the point where they don’t really care about the quality of their playing, but care only about how many concerts they can get in a season. I also personally know many well-known soloists and musicians who treat concerts as nothing more as “gigs”, as something to just show up, play mindlessly, grab your paycheck, and leave. Needless to say, as a performer, as someone who loves music, and as an occasional audience member, I find this kind of behavior and attitude offensive.

I think this is at least partially a result of the kind of society we have become, a society in which we often base our sense of self and success on our relationship to our surroundings. We are constantly looking at others, vicariously reading personal blogs and watching reality television, competing against others, somehow trying to find some validation externally rather than internally. There seems to be an inability to determine and understand for ourselves what it means to search for and pursue a deeper quality in one’s music and life, and a certain lack of self-responsibility and awareness. My advice to young musicians has always been the same - first, and foremost, you must always be looking within yourself. How can I improve? How do I keep searching, reaching, and developing as an artist? How do I keep asking questions that challenge me to keep growing? When I go back to play a piece from a year ago, do I take the easy way out and go on auto-pilot and play it the same way as I did then? Or do I dig deeper, and keep searching to discover new things in the music that I didn’t see before? How can I understand myself better? These are questions that only you can ask yourself. The death of any artist is the day they stop growing - the search should continue to the last day of your life, until the last breath you take. And of course, I don’t mean simply locking yourself up in a practice room and looking only at scores for the rest of your life - although there are many people who believe this is what is meant by growing and improving. One has to grow consistently as a human being, in all facets - emotionally, mentally, spiritually - because this is what will always color the lens through which one can perceive and understand humanity, and thereby deepen one’s relationship and understanding to the nature of music and art itself.

When we complain that recording technology changed the way we play, is it really the fault of the technology itself, which was simply a tool that enabled a wider dissemination of music? Shouldn’t musicians themselves take responsibility for the choice they themselves made in changing their fundamental approach towards performance to suit the technology instead of staying true to the integrity and quality of their art? If audiences show up to a concert hall expecting a technically perfect performance that sounds exactly like a recording they heard of Rubinstein’s Chopin or Horowitz’s Rachmaninoff, is it the fault of the technology or does it point out the fact that we need to improve the quality of music education for the public? This is what I mean when I say that rather than being afraid of new technology itself, I think the greater concern is how we each will maintain the responsibility towards original and genuine artistry in our field, even as the means and tools by which that artistry is shared with the public changes.

In the end, I think the issue is a very human one. Technology has the power to change the way in which we view things - this has remained the same throughout the entire course of human civilization. With every advance, we redefine our society and the means through which we connect and communicate with one another, because the tools with which we manage our lives and work change. But the responsibility for how this affects the value and meaning of what we do has always, and I believe will always, lie with each individual, each person, and the choices that we each make.

Hearing is a passive act. We hear things around us all the time - the car screeching on the street, voices in conversation, the TV in the background, children running down the street. When we make music, hearing is useless. We can hear ourselves playing phrase after phrase without processing anything, without any artistic value or commitment, without any understanding.

Listening is an active state. It is an act of exploration, of search and discovery - to find the music that lies deep within the instrument, beyond the notes and score, and the sounds which can remain hidden until the performer brings them to life. Listening stems from a process within us that is way beyond our hands or ears. It demands another level of concentration and self-commitment in order to discover for ourselves that elusive source from which artistic interpretation is born. Making music requires us to listen.

I am often saddened by how limited people can be. Our primitive need to categorize everything and stick to safe, narrow-minded and closed paths prevents us from not only being able to see deeper, more profound understandings about ourselves and each other, but more importantly, the responsibilities we all have toward human possibility - the bigger vision of what we must do for the future, for the next generation, and not simply for “right now”. Lack of courage, imagination, and vision is one of the biggest and most frequent problems we face in all of our lives - from musicians to politicians, from the average working guy to the student still in school. People spend so much time looking at others, competing against others, hiding behind so many things… perhaps we should be spending more time looking and searching within ourselves.

I hope those in the US who are voting today will use their right to speak up for what they believe in. Spain has its election on Sunday - after the debate last night, I hope people here will turn out to support the clear choice.

It’s a cold, cloudy, drizzly, grey day and I feel quite uninspired.



My teacher used to complain on days like this, and with his rough, heavily Russian-accented English, he would proclaim that days like this were not meant for producing “any inspired or beautiful music”, but were meant for being alone, thinking and ruminating. I used to tease him, saying with all the fresh idealism of youth, “Oh Alexander, come on! It doesn’t matter what the weather is like, we can still create something beautiful from the inside! Come on, let’s get to work!” I used to love this kind of weather - especially while I lived in New York, where the grey dreariness was a part of the very character of the city. I felt like it made me tougher, grittier, and it energized me into thinking that my work as a musician was so noble because I was trying to create beauty in the middle of such adversity as rain and dark clouds!

And now? Now I’m sitting here, completely affected by the weather, nursing a cup of hot tea, and feeling melancholic and uninspired. Hmm.

Schmutzie just wrote a charming and amusing post about “getting older”, that got me thinking about all of this. Perhaps this current natural acceptance and intake of what is around me is a sign of age, and my previous determined need to prove myself, despite the surroundings, was a hallmark of my brash youth. A few days ago, a friend of mine and fellow pianist, D, celebrated a birthday, and as I sent him his birthday e-card, I mentioned in it that he should “revel” in his youth. Although he’s a few years younger than me, part of the reason why we have been friends for so long is because of his maturity, and his impressive ability to perceive subtle issues in ways that I never could have at his age. But as I sent the card to him, I felt a strange twinge - like the twinge I felt the first time someone called me “ma’am” instead of “miss”. I suddenly felt that those few years between our ages was an enormous gulf, and I felt an unbelievable urge to protect him from all the challenges and difficulties I knew were lying ahead of him. But most of all, I was worried that he would push himself in all of the wrong ways, in the impulsive driven manner of youth, when perhaps the most important thing was for him to learn to let go, to naturally accept things as they come, to take the time to be enriched in all ways by everything that is around us. In other words, all the things my teacher was probably trying to teach me through his sensitive comments about things as innocuous as the weather.

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In other news, I am doing some score shopping today for an interesting performance I have coming up, which I hope to post about later this week. I am also now on StumbleUpon, and have created a Bloglog community for this blog, and would love it if you would join/friend me there.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize that the private, personal world that you inhabit on a daily basis is so drastically different from the world and reality that surround you?



Like every country in the world, the different regions of Spain are vastly different from one another. The poetic melancholy of the sea that pervades Galicia in northwestern Spain is radically different from the arid, almost severe qualities of central Spain, and from the richly pastoral and French-influenced regions of Catalonia and the Basque regions in the northeast. Malaga, in the southern Andalusia province, is also uniquely distinct. Infused with the smells and sounds of the Mediterranean, it truly is like another world. The people are boisterous, even to the point of being noisy - they speak with louder voices and with great affection and drama. As quick as they are with their generosity and kindness, they are even quicker with their tempers. At ten in the morning, the cafes are already filled with the retired and elderly, and with construction workers taking a mid-morning break - all indulging in either a biting drink of gin or a cool glass of cerveza (beer). The heat of the sun made it seem warm enough to be late May in New York, even though it’s still only February. Although less than an hour away by plane from my current home base of Madrid, I felt like I was stepping through a door into old Spain - the historical melting pot where the Arab Moors from Africa, the Jewish settlers from the east, and the Catholics from the north interacted together under the Mediterranean sun, creating a vibrant and colorful culture.

This was my second visit to Malaga - almost two years ago, I came for a concerto performance with orchestra, and this time it was for chamber music. I have always been passionate about chamber music, and have collaborated over the years with numerous musicians in countless performances. Some have been memorable experiences, others less so.



Anytime one collaborates with other musicians, whether it be for an intimate chamber music performance, or for a symphonic performance with conductor and orchestra, it’s a little bit like going out on a first date, especially if you’ve never worked with that musician before. Established chamber groups, like piano trios or string quartets, remind me of a marriage, with all of the ups and downs, and years of experience together that form the basis of their trust and understanding of one another. But for occasional performances with musicians that you are just getting to know, a collaborative performance together is often an experience in which you are simply trying to understand the other musician as a person, as a human being. I try to quickly get a feel of how they approach things, how they think, of their personality and character, of their communication ability and preferences, and so on. This is just as an important process for me as the actual music rehearsals themselves. From my experience, I believe that musicians can have very differing and wide-ranging artistic and interpretive views, but can still work together to produce a memorable performance, as long as the general philosophy and attitude towards the act of producing art is similar. I am sorry to say that in this recent performance, this was not the case.

This was a difficult experience - to perform with another musician, who very clearly, believes not in art, but in the idea of putting on a “show”, an entertaining “spectacle” for the audience. I will not go into unnecessary details - lets just say that apparently jumping all over the stage, and throwing one’s bow all over the place, is a way of convincing the audience of emotion that obviously could not be communicated through sound and actual playing. I recently read an interesting article in the New York Times about this - the writer is a bit harsh and too absolute for my taste, but nevertheless, I do think that there is some truth in what he writes. I don’t think sitting stock still and looking as somber as a priest in a monastery necessarily means that one is a deeper musician, or that moving around on your instrument means a lack of musical understanding or feeling. However, when physical mannerisms and affectations becomes a crutch, when it becomes something that one hides behind to use to communicate to an audience, then something is clearly wrong. Music is meant to communicate and express through an infinite palette of sounds - through nuances, inflections, and gestures within the auditory realm - and not through visual aerobics. If one wanted to do that, a pursuit of a career in the acting field would be more appropriate.

I mention this experience on this blog, not to be hurtful or spiteful, but because in this day and age of instant gratification, of sound bites, of fast and flashy extravaganzas, of the refusal, in general, to see beyond what is only the superficial outside, how easy it is for us to forget what lies beyond, to forget to search for a quality that doesn’t simply have an external “wow” factor, but actually inspires, educates, and nourishes. I felt like Alice who fell through the looking glass - I had not agreed to this kind of situation, to this kind of approach towards music, towards an audience. And as I sat there, trying my hardest to make the best out of the situation, I felt as though I was watching everything in distortion, seeing an obviously very insecure person who represents the absolute opposite of everything I hold dear, of all the reasons why I became a musician, hopping around on the stage with me. What does it mean to be an artist? Does it mean an ego-trip filled with “Look at me! Look at me!”? Are artists so special? Being an artist does not make one super-special - I don’t subscribe to the whole classical music “elitism” thing. I think artists are simply human beings who see and approach the world in a certain way, with their own kind of language - being an artist is a way of life. There are artists everywhere around us - one does not have to be in the performing, visual, or literary arts to lead an artistic life. There are countless scientists, mathematicians, doctors, teachers, office workers, business leaders, bloggers, concert presenters, etc., who are artists. They are artists because of the philosophy with which they approach their individual lives.

I came back home quite upset, with the somewhat disturbing feeling of being unclean, of somehow being violated, or “pimped”, if you know what I mean. It took me awhile to truly process all of the feelings behind this, and I’m still working through it. A few days ago, as I thought some more about it, I received an e-mail from Hawaii, where a letter was received from an orchestra I recently performed with, and had such a marvelous, special time with. It was one of those rare experiences that stays with you, becomes a part of who you are, and in some inexplicable way, changes you - just receiving a letter from the people there made me very happy. Apparently, a young child, who had attended an outreach event I had done on behalf of the orchestra, had written to their offices, telling them how much he enjoyed my event, how much he enjoyed the Mozart I played, and how he thought what we were doing really was a “service for the community”. How pure, how sincere, how real - receiving this letter was for me like a drink of refreshing tonic at a time when I needed it the most. This is what it is that I believe in, this is the reason why I am a musician. And somehow, the simple, handwritten words of this child cleansed me, and I could let go.

*You can view a few more photos from Malaga here.