Leon Fleisher at the Rose Studio
April 18, 2012
We (musicians) are all fascinated (I think) by master classes. Where else do you get a chance to receive free advice of the highest caliber, to give your catty critical spirit a free rein, to match your judgement skills against those of the paragons of the musical profession, to shake your head and shrug your nose or to applaud wildly, in short, to free yourself of all your musical complexes?
Some may disagree, but I simply thrive on master classes. But mind you, there are master classes and master classes. I will not point my finger or name names, but some of the greatest musicians I know give the worst master classes in the world. In some cases, they just can’t leave their ego at home and it towers over the poor kids who are seeking advice and encouragement. In other instances, they are so inarticulate that you don’t understand a word, let alone grasp a thought. Others still cannot disguise their complete lack of interest in the average player and only warm up to the odd little genius who shows up. Who needs a master class for that? And then, you have those (a great majority, alas!) who are just downright mean and love to crush pride and feelings under their heel. Needless to say, they and all of the above are doing music a great disservice.
And now I can name the ones who give wonderful master classes. Those who are perceptive, thoughtful, empathic, kind, witty, constructive. Yo Yo Ma, Lynn Harrell, Gary Hoffman, the late Luciano Pavarotti, and …. well, the list, unfortunately is not very long, and I have to apologize for being so cello-oriented.
And then, and then, there are the Master’s Master Classes. The very best master classes of all, the ones which transcend instruments and even music itself, the ones which give you the most extraordinary insights into the human soul, the ones that move you to tears and make you laugh, the ones that bring out the very best in the students and that make you want to rush home and go over all your repertoire because you suddenly see it in a whole new light. Those are the master classes of Leon Fleisher.
I was lucky enough to attend two. The first was about twenty years ago in Madrid. Leon Fleisher had been invited for a series of master classes and concerts with the students of the prestigious Escuela Reina Sofia. I wrote about it somewhere, but at the time I was not into computers yet (and computers were not dominating the world either) so I don’t know where my text is. I think Uncle Henry has a copy, I’ll try to get it from him. Anyway, it was my first, a piano master class, or so I thought. It turned out to be a life master class, which left me completely in awe of this unbelievably brilliant and sensitive man. Not that I didn’t know him. I had in fact met him several times through our mutual friend Uncle Henry (as Onkel Heinz is known in the US), and I had heard him over and over again, in concert and on record. His was the first serious concert I ever went to, at the age of 8, in Brussels, a few years after he won the Queen Elizabeth. If I remember well, he played Brahms’ first. Years later, Uncle Henry at Christmas had given my parent’s his recording of Schubert’s B flat major sonata and Ländler, a recording which I wore thin. On the same occasion, I had received Leonard Bernstein’s recording, conducting from the piano, of the Mozart 15th and 17th concertos, which I also heard until the grooves split. I was 13 years old then, and these were a basic part of my budding musical education. Later on, I got Fleisher’s Beethoven and Brahms concertos with Szell, and I thought music couldn’t possibly reserve any better surprises for me. Then, many, many years later, came this master class.
Unfortunately, you are not allowed to record at these events, and taking notes just ruins your concentration, so I only have my memory to rely on. There are one or two things that I remember precisely, apart from my overall impression of being in the presence of genius. After the first young pianist played the Beethoven op. 111, Fleisher opened his commentary by saying: “You know, we’re not pianists. We are just musicians who happen to play the piano.” And I remember thinking: “You, sir, are not a musician. You are a humanist who happens to make glorious music.” And so it started, and went on and on, and I thought that these young pianists (Arkadi Volodos, Eldar Nebolsin and Claudio Martínez Mehner among them, if I’m not mistaken) were indeed very fortunate.
About twenty years later, I read that Maestro Fleisher was giving a master class right on my doorstep, in the Rose Studio of Juilliard, for the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. I rushed to get a ticket, only to find that they were sold out. Au secours, Onkel Heinz! Zu Hilfe! Help – I will die if I don’t go. So Uncle Henry, after a few grumbles and snorts, agrees to call his pal and ask for a couple of tickets. My fortune was that he needed to be in NY exactly then, and that I could bribe him, with the promise of a nice dinner and a comfortable and inexpensive bed, into securing tickets for both of us.
The first row seats were all reserved. There were side seats, which we retreated to. Still, the two middle seats in the first row stayed empty, and I asked the people who seemed to be guarding them whom they were for. Mr. Fleisher and a friend. The friend could only be Onkel Heinz, so I shipped him off to this choice location, while I stayed on the side. The people next to me, who saw me walk back and forth from the front row until Leon Fleisher walked in with his witty, charming, totally bewitching smile, asked me whether Uncle Henry was his brother. No, not brother, I answered, but surely soulmate. And then, I saw Fleisher take a seat to the back of the “stage”, behind the chairs and stands set out for the performers, and I made a quick plunge for the seat next to Uncle Henry, so that’s how I was lucky enough to hear and see without the slightest interference.
The master class was all I had expected and then some. Again, that nasty little remark at the end of the programme: “Recording prohibited”. Only now I’m considerably older and my memory considerably weaker, so I’m even sorrier that I can’t relive the moment word for word. Especially that my iPhone has a wonderful little voice recorder… but I am such a coward! My hope is that the class seemed to be recorded, and that they may have the extreme kindness to put it on their website. I know it was streamed, so I suppose it was recorded.
The groups to perform (this was not piano, as I thought, but chamber music, to my utter delight) were a clarinet trio (Brahms, of course) from SUNY, a piano trio from the Manhattan School of Music (the Ghost! my favorite) and a piano quintet from Juilliard, again Brahms in all his splendor. I don’t know whether it was on purpose or whether it was just the way it turned out, but I had the impression that the quality of the musicians rose in a very distinct crescendo as the morning went along. I don’t mean to be unpleasant: they were all amazing young musicians (or, to paraphrase Fleisher himself, amazing youngsters who happen to be musicians). But the Juilliard group was in a league of its own, and their stage demeanor and the quality of their playing clearly stood out.
How I wish I could remember everything Fleisher said and all the points he made! But, alas!, I cannot reproduce the exact words that kept me on the edge of my chair all morning, neither can I repeat all the brilliant points he made and the profoundly perceptive and constructive advice he gave. I can only describe how he listened from his chair to the side of the players and then, once they had finished playing, migrated to the heart of the group to speak to them from their very core. He pulled up his chair and sat next to the pianist, score in hand, and very gently proceeded to tell them first what had made the performance splendid, and then how they could make it even better. He invariably asked the musicians what they themselved had thought of their performance, a question not all of them could handle. But some could, and Fleisher picked it up from there, showing them how to achieve what they were striving for. I could certainly hit myself for not having transgressed and recorded the class! I do remember one of the things he said which went straight to my heart, as it is a problem that has always nonplused me. I was so surprised when I heard Mr. Fleisher ask, as he dragged his chair to be closer to the group, “don’t you all feel that the most difficult note to play is the first one?”. I drew even closer to the edge of my chair – don’t I?! I’m positively petrified of striking that first note in any piece, a note that must sound clear and strong, whether pianissimo or fortissimo and which must, even before you have had the time to gather your spirits, set the mood for the piece. I was all ears. “Well, in most classical period pieces, the introduction is usually repeated. You play until you reach the repeat sign, and then you start again. Well, as you are about to play that first note, why not pretend that you have already played through the first time, and that you are actually repeating?” I couldn’t believe the impact that simple piece of advice had on me. I may be overreacting, but I don’t think I have ever heard anything so marvelously helpful in a long, long time. Not since I heard Yo Yo Ma tell a student in one of his master classes that he should pretend his bow was endless and that would ease the bow changes. Why can’t us mortals come up with these ideas?
Fleisher also spoke about style, how the Romantics and the Classics treat the same rhythmical structure differently so that it sounds completely different, a question of stressing long notes versus short notes in the Romantic era versus the opposite in the Classical period, I can see you sneer: “so, what else is new”? So, so much! But, again, I didn’t record, so this is not supposed to be a full description of the class, just a token of my profound gratitude for one of the most illuminating mornings ever.
At the end, I just could not resist, in the wake of Uncle Henry’s fraternal embrace, hugging and kissing Fleisher on both cheeks – I’m not sure he enjoyed that very much. What is this 300-some lady think she is doing? Just manifesting her admiration, her thrill and her joy. Grazie, grazie mille, Maestro!