sungmin's egloos

The dark wooden stairs had rotten cracks here and there. I painstakingly climbed the sinister stairs one by one, placing my feet on safe spots. I was carrying a heavy load. At the end of the strenuous mission I found a moss-grown door, with only a size of my shoulder height. The paint was peeled off in places. A black kitten, staring at me with insecure yellow eyes, sat slightly bent on the broken window frame. I knocked.

A shabby-haired, middle-aged woman greeted me with a big smile. The apartment had a worn-out sofa, a small table, and an antiquated television. The bookshelves were in a complete disorder. Music sheets were haphazardly scattered on the floor. On one wall was hung a poster of Pablo Casals. On the other side there was an old computer where it led to a tiny bedroom and a narrow kitchen. She was certainly not married. There were two chairs and two music stands in the center. Little light came in from the windows, creating a gloomy atmosphere. I unloaded and took out my cello.

I got to know Miriam Shames through the school orchestra conductor, when I had just moved to America. Miriam was totally different from my previous teacher. She was living in such a devastated environment. I thought all classical musicians were living happily in a noble environment. She didn’t appear like one either. Honestly, if I had seen her on some streets, I would have thought she was a homeless. Her gray hair was always bushy and her clothes were stained.

Unlike many teachers of music, Miriam was entirely open-minded with music. When I started working on a new piece, I established my own interpretation by myself and show them to her. She would first carefully listen from the beginning to the end, and would never say no to any of the novel attempts. She made suggestions, pointed out certain places of difficulty, and provided alternative methods, but she always emphasized that the final decision was wholly mine. She told me that there are no right and wrong answers in music. Everyone’s interpretation is unique and valuable. I must have my own voice in music.

Miriam had a warm heart. She sympathized in me with the fact that I was having a difficult time in the completely unaccustomed surroundings, speaking English as a second language. She understood my situation better than anyone else. She would advise me to practice speaking a lot because when she was in Germany she found it harder to speak than to understand German. During lessons, she would explain things to me slowly and clearly to make sure I could understand. She was eager to teach me as many things as possible. She would sometimes end up finishing the lesson an hour later than normal.

During one lesson, Miriam took out a small syringe and injected into the stomach. She said it was diabetes. I was shocked; she had it since she was six. From that age on, she had to continue this practice every day; otherwise she wouldn’t have lasted a few days. When I asked her if the injections and other medications weren’t demanding, she said she was already too used to them to be bothered, and smiled wryly.

This world was unfair. Why should a kindhearted woman like her live in such havoc with no man to depend on, suffering a life-long disease? Why should such musician suffer while many disgraceful people out there live in so much wealth? I could not understand. Miriam was a highly talented cellist, a gifted teacher, and warm-hearted woman. Why should she live in poverty and loneliness?

Before my departure back to Korea, Miriam held a cello workshop. She invited all her pupils and their families. I played Debussy’s cello sonata, which I spent the most time and effort. Miriam exclaimed with a beaming grin, “Bravo! You’re not a student. You’re a cellist!” I cannot forget the warm, angelic smile of the second Virgin Mary. She had married a nice man and moved to a new house by that time, though he already had a daughter. I haven’t been able to contact her after I returned home. I really wish she is living happily with her new family.

I figured I have to submit a page-long essay by tomorrow, so I gotta freewrite to brainstorm my thoughts. Here it goes:

Cello became my primary interest when I was living in the states for a few years. I had just moved from Korea, and my English was poor, so music was like a language that I could speak without difficulties with the new people I met there. I was quite lonely and missed my friends back in my country. Playing the cello was the means to escape from that loneliness. With the cello my parents bought me there, all day I did was playing the cello. I didn’t have a teacher then, so I downloaded sheetmusics from the internet and taught myself to play them. My favorite piece was Bach’s cello suites. I would forget about all the worries and homesickness when I was playing the prelude of the first suite. The only teacher I had was a CD recording, but I tried to play it on my own way and based on how I felt it should sound like.
School started and I signed up for an orchestra class. The conductor was surprised to see a student so interested in cello and introduced me a teacher named Miriam Shames. When I went to her house for the first time to get a lesson, she told me to play anything I’d like. So I played the prelude, of course. It is such a beautiful song. Miriam listened carefully everything from the beginning to the end. She did not lose her smile for a moment. When I finished playing the piece, she exclaimed: “Bravo! You play like Yo-yo Ma.” She told me that she liked my way of playing. All the musical stuff I was trying was fine, she said. But she not only praised my interpretation but also made some suggestions. I should use less bow so that it should move more lightly and make more polished sound. I should rather play each small phrase in one bow than to separate all the notes, and so on. She asked me if I am okay with her suggestions, because when she herself was unhappy when she changed her own teacher, because he suggested her to change so many things. She said my interpretations of the piece were overall superb, except in some places where they were quite revolutionary. I should keep my way.
Miriam was open-minded with various interpretations. Whenever I started new concertos., I would establish my own interpretation of the piece on my own and show it to her during private lessons. She would always accept them. She would never say no to any of my novel attempts. She could make some suggestions though, but she always emphasized that the final decision would be wholly mine. She told me that there is no exact right and wrong answeres and music. Everyone’s interpretation is unique and has its value. And I should have my own voice in my music, too.
As there were musical problems, there were technicall problems, too. Miriam always told me that I gotta be in tune. I have all the magnificent musical stuff in my sound but when it lacks its intonation, it just sounds so immatuear. With all the wise interopretation, being out of tune will just make them vain. But when it’s in tune, my sound will ring beautifully.
Miriam also had good heart. She always sympathized with me with the fact that I was having a difficult time because English was my second language and My family was living in a foreign country for a few years, in a completely different environment from my home.

I'll continue tomorrow. It's only a dirty rough draft yet^^

This fifth symphony made me delve into mahler's music. The First movement is the funeral march that begins with a trumpet ringing the motive of death. This ba-ba-ba-bam kind of reminds me of Beethoven's fifth in a twisted mode. It is simple yet strikingly memorable. I used to always wake up in the morning hearing the hallucinated sound of the first trumpet melody; now it's replaced by something else. I consider Abbado's recording with Berlin Philharmonic quite intelligently played. There is a cool absence of emotion. It's all based on logic. But his 2006 recording with Lucerne Festival Orchestra seems to have loosened its coldness. It earned warmth while retaining the preciseness. Still, I cannot forget the powerful impression of Bernstein's recording. Some say his style is too mannered and empathesized, but that style in mahler's case becomes his strength. It's intensively expressive.

Isn't it too short?
So critical reading is all about fast reading and quickly answering?
I'm getting tired of myself having to rush to finish a section. I wish I could take time and calmly scrutinize everything.
Maybe I better just grab my stopwatch and the practice test booklet out again.

This movie clip reminds me of the time when I was living in Seattle. My family lived there for about one and a half year because my father went to University of Washington as a visiting scholar. It was more the time I delved into playing the cello than one I used to improve my English. I don't regret that. Much of my musical understanding was earned here. This I attribute to my former cello teacher MIriam, who inspired me to constantly challenge new interpretations of music. This is the last piece that I worked on when I was living in the states.

This is Debussy's cello sonata. He is considered the founder of modern impressionism in music. One can clearly see that his style differs a lot from those from classical periods that we are most used to. There is certain strangemness in harmony and rhythm that I cannot well understand which yet makes the output so pretty. There is grandeur and excitement. It's almost a mystery.