memories of music past
The night of May 5th of 2007 was bittersweet. We were excited, and for good reason too. That night we were to become the first youth orchestra ever to perform in the Civic Opera House, we were going to accompany William Preucil, the concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra, in the Mendelssohn, but above all, it was, for many of us, our final concert as members of the Midwest Young Artists. Walking on the stage of the Ardis Krainik Theatre for dress rehearsal, my breath was taken away by the beautiful ornamentations that adorned the theatre in its entirety. Truly the architect had no sense of modesty as every small detail was planned to the most luxurious of specifications.
Let's fast forward to the middle of the actual concert. A recorded message began to sound within the theatre as each graduating member stood up. The time for the farewell message had come. The tone of the voice in the recording was initially formal and stoic, yet there was a sombre quality to the timbre of the voice. The voice belonged to Dr. Allan Dennis, who stood before us, as he smiled at us as would a proud father in front of his children, and in his hand he had a container full of roses. By now the formal part of the farewell message was over, and progressed to the part where there was a personal message for each graduating member.
Dr. Dennis began passing out the roses to each of the graduating members, after which would give the person a big hug, and at mid-embrace, whisper something into their ear. Tears were shed and there was laughter as each of us got a brief moment to reminisce with Dr. Dennis about the years gone by:
I had auditioned for the concert orchestra, which was the second-ranked orchestra, trumped only by the symphony orchestra. I was confident, armed with a violin and bow that I was set on purchasing at that moment in time. It was an Italian, and was very similar to the German Klotz I have right now. The body was narrow, and at the waist very tall. The varnish was bright and orange, while the tone was very warm. My grandmother had visited the summer before my freshman year of high school, and she went to one of my recitals. Upon listening to my playing and in light of the fact that I was going to audition for one of the best youth orchestras in the state, she decided that it was time I owned my own violin.
We were notified a couple days later that I was accepted. Having been accepted, with encouragement by my violin teacher, Ms. Hadar, and Dr. Dennis himself, I immediately auditioned for a position within the symphony orchestra. By some miraculous turn of events, I was accepted into the symphony orchestra. The excitement and confidence in whatever competence I thought I had in the violin were soon shattered when it came to my first rehearsal.
Walking into the rehearsal hall, I didn't know anybody. To obtain a copy of the score, I quickly found Dr. Dennis, and upon receiving the music, I found the nearest available stand, sat down, and took out my violin. The score in front of me was Beethoven's ninth. As I perused through the music, a troubling feeling began to grip me as I frantically thought to myself in bewilderment, "I'm supposed to be able to play this?"
We tuned. Dr. Dennis lifted his baton, and on cue, the horns held out their first chord as the second violins and cellos gave rhythmic structure to the introduction with their sextuplets. This was the beginning of the first movement, Allegro ma non troppo, un poco maestoso.
One measure of rest... come in on the 16th pickup to the third measure... and play it sotto voce, whatever that that means...
I miscounted and missed my very first notes. I had another chance in two measures... and I blew that chance too. Actually, if memory serves me right, I missed most of the notes for the remainder of the rehearsal. This was partly due to my own incompetence, but also partly due to the shock in the realization that everyone else was above me in skill level by a wide margin. At the end of the rehearsal, on the verge of tears, I went to my mom and promptly told her that I felt as if I didn't deserve to be in this orchestra and that I was going to Dr. Dennis to tell him that he made a mistake when he accepted me.
Perhaps I should have gone straight to Dr. Dennis instead of talking to my mom, because she refused to allow me to do approach Dr. Dennis when I planned to say such foolish things and encouraged me to keep trying. In retrospect, I guess it wouldn't have mattered since if I had spoken to Dr. Dennis first and told him that I didn't belong in symphony, he probably would have told me the same thing mom told me. Regardless, it didn't encourage me that after my first seating audition, I was placed dead last within my section.
A year and a half passed, and by then I was in the middle of my section. Shostakovich's fifth symphony absolutely blew me away. You wouldn't be able to guess how obsessed I became with Shostakovich after playing that symphony. During the summer of 2005, I had the great privilege of touring with the orchestra in Spain and Portugal. My third year in Midwest Young Artists began, and I was so close to the first stand! Mahler 5 beat me to a pulp as I entered my last year, and what else would have been greater to begin my final year than Brahms' fourth symphony?
The time for seating auditions came, and then the day the seating assignments were announced.
Finally!
Starting from the very last seat, within 3 years I had finally reached the top. It was the night of the concert. I was in the backstage of the Harris Theatre with Dr. Dennis, as he reminded me what to do when I walk on stage. He gave the signal for the orchestra to quiet down and with that, the hall became dead silent. The sound of footsteps pierced through the hall. They were my footsteps. A couple footsteps later, there was applause. Amidst the cheering, I continued to walk to the center of the stage, unable to hide my grin, making eye contact with several of my friends as I walked past them. I stood at the center of the stage, faced the audience, and took a bow. That was my shining moment.
From that point on, I kept my first chair for the remainder of the season, up to our season closing concert. By now, Dr. Dennis had finished his rounds with all the graduating members, and the recorded speech was over. The audience clapped for us as we sat down. Dr. Dennis took to the podium, lifted his baton, and on cue, the lower strings laid down a heavily-drawn chord as the clarinet played its melancholic tune. This was the beginning of the first movement, Andante - Allegro con anima.
The opening melody was solemn and made my heart heavy. We came to the Allegro con anima section, and as the strings set the pace almost in the style of a march, the clarinet and the bassoon played their solos. The symphony had swung into full gear. It felt like only a minute had gone by when we finished the first movement. I was dreading the second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza for its emotional intensity in its unparalleled beauty. As soon as the horn came in with its introductory solo, it was obvious that something was stirring within not just me, but Dr. Dennis, the rest of the orchestra, and the audience as well.
In no time we were in the thick of the movement, and we reached the explosive climax. The last chord we played in the climax echoed within the hall as we entered 12/8 time. We had to come in on the second beat for pizzicato, and as I looked up to Dr. Dennis, waiting for the cue, I could see tears in his eyes. I could see the tears in some of my friends sitting across from me in the cello and viola sections as well. With an unwavering smile, he gave the cue as we pressed forward.
The mood lightened considerably with the playful third movement, and we entered the finale strong. How appropriate was it, that the last movement began with the opening melody in the first movement, but in a major key, not piano, but mezzo-forte, not pesante, but maestoso? Excitement reached its peak as we entered the presto nearing the end of the piece, entering the finale, Molto meno mosso, ending with the most resounding and resolute E major chord that reverberated within the walls of the Ardis Krainik Theatre in its entire history.
The applause and cheering that followed was thunderous. I was ecstatic, basking in a pool of triumph. We were the Midwest Young Artists. Yet there was another side of me opposite in polarity. It was sadness, in that I would never have this kind of experience again. My friends and I were going to part ways after that night, spreading across the States to pursue college education.
I can still hear the distant echoes of that night. I can listen to our recordings, flip through old programs, or even play along recordings of our old repertoire. However, no matter how much I try to relive the past, it's undeniable that it's over for me.
Regardless, at the end of it all, I can't help but to be extremely thankful for the opportunity to play in such a high-calibre orchestra among other passionate youth. These memories and experiences will be cherished as long as I live. My time may be over, but it's just the beginning for the next wave of youths entering the Midwest Young Artists. I sincerely hope that through their time spent in MYA, that they will realize how truly lucky they are to be there.
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