Great cellist Orlando Cole at nearly 100 years old. (Courtesy of David Cole)

Orlando Cole, the great American cellist born on Aug. 16, 1908, just celebrated his 100th birthday. His career has bridged two centuries of music-making.

A “who’s who” in the music world, Orlando Cole represents a tremendous link to the glorious past. In the early 1900s, the American public still depended on the more sophisticated European culture. It was a time when the great German photographer Alfred Stieglitz was busy promoting unknowns at the time, including Georgia O’Keefe and Amedeo Modigliani; a time when Debussy was still composing, Stravinsky was hardly discovered, and Matisse and Picasso were relatively unknown. 

Cole’s father was a fine violinist in the Philadelphia Orchestra who played with the legendary Leopold Stokowski. Orlando Cole became a superb virtuoso after having studied with the great Felix Salmond and became his assistant, who taught among other cellists Leonard Rose, Frank Miller, and Alan Shulman. (Today we are familiar with the artistry of Yo Yo Ma, who studied with Rose who, in turn, worked closely with Cole—and both studied with Felix Salmond.)

Orlando Cole started the legendary Curtis Quartet, one of the greatest quartets of the past century. The Curtis Quartet pioneered during the pre-war years as the first American string quartet to tour Europe. Cole’s classmate and friend, Samuel Barber, first wrote for him the sonata op. 6. Barber wrote his quartet op. 11 as well, with its famous adagio, for the Curtis Quartet. The Curtis Quartet’s recordings are now collectors’ discs and are sadly difficult to find. 

His Legacy

Orlando Cole also helped create great institutions. He was faculty at the Curtis Institute for 75 years. The institute was founded “to train exceptionally gifted young musicians for careers as performing artists on the highest professional level.” He essentially founded the New School of Music in Philadelphia now affiliated with Temple University.

Orlando Cole in his office and at the cello. (Courtesy of David Cole)

Cole stands as a great pedagogue because he understands that music is not merely about entertainment; it is a lifetime’s work that represents the highest achievements of mankind. He served as a loving mentor to many young musicians, and is known as much for his great humanity and kindness as his unhesitating declaration of just how a piece should be interpreted. 

An educator of this standing, he taught many of the great cellists on our concert stage today, including the famed Lynn Harrell and his own son David Cole, a remarkable cellist in his own right.

David Cole possesses a totally unique voice on the instrument. I have played chamber music with him and gotten goose bumps on my arm after listening to his glorious sound. Highly imaginative, David built his own cello and bow. David’s wife, Carol Cole, is also a Curtis Graduate (and beautiful violinist). Their son, Lipo Cole, has already made a name for himself as a great maker of violins and other stringed instruments. 

In an age of instant everything, it behooves us to note the real masters behind the scenes who have shaped our finest moments and who are in danger of being lost.

Eric Shumsky is a concert violinist and the son of famed violinist Oscar Shumsky.

J. S. BACH: The 1748 portrait of J. S. Bach by Haussman. Known as an organist in his lifetime, Bach did not receive acclaim for his compositions until the 19th century. (Courtesy of www.npj.com/thefaceofbach)

Romania is the land of sights, feelings, and music, and a land rich in culture where Georges Enesco, the great violinist, composer, and conductor is know by all. Here, Enesco is featured on Romanian currency and streets are named after him. He adorns many monuments as well.

Here in a land so rich in tradition, where musicians and artists find and form their own highly individual ways, here wherever I go—into plazas, in hotel lobbies, on the planes—I hear the worst of Western music.

Here, when leaving the hotel, I am escorted by lyrics of someone shooting the sheriff and killing everyone in sight.

In America I have come to expect this, despite the fact that America has much art to offer—make no mistake. Aaron Copland offers a vast openness, tranquility, a quiet city and a barren landscape, a harmony stripped to the bare essence and the originality of a culture only a few hundreds years old. Georgia O’Keefe, similarly, paints her distilled forms, so highly original, in contrasts, again reaching the essence within.

Yet here, in this beautiful city in Romania, here I expect the music to match the Old World tradition of the place. But the music I hear around me played in most public places is downright violent and devoid of better values. One can argue that art need not be pleasant. (I will leave the debating to those interested in politics, a topic where debates are equally ineffective).

Is this Old World doing its time, having to suffer, to join America in a vastly superior new way of life in terms of freedom? Does freedom only allow us to seek after violence? Must the great old traditions go along with the atrocities of more modern cultures, or can they not cherish the noble parts of our Western civilization?

Something inside me, however, tells me that the essence of beauty is good for us, that too much violence is bad. I feel this.

As I’m leaving the hotel, and hear the lyrics of violence, I hear something different—utterly different, profoundly different.

I hear in the distance, perhaps a quarter mile away, the auditory perfume of the master of all. Is it my imagination? Do I hear Bach?

As I near the town square in lovely Cluj-Napoca, Romania, I am awed by the beautiful fountains in the town square where the cascading water seems choreographed to the music of J. S Bach, and the rays of sun are spread out in a spectrum of color. The suddenness of meeting Bach in such an unexpected way, moved me, reminded me—if I had any doubts—that I still love music.

I stand overwhelmed, shocked by a recognition of greatness. Oh, the great Organ Prelude of Bach! No one could ever write greater music. Such beauty was achieved by a mortal. I know that if there was a god of music, it was Bach.

I look around at the passersby. They seem to take the moment in stride, or do they? Aren’t they, too, confronted with something extraordinary? I watch as many seem to break their stride, stop, and cant their heads.

They know they are in the presence of great music. I see it. I feel a sense of respect. Some parents stop with their children, who move their little hands to the sweep of the cascading Bach prelude so beautifully choreographed.

This music is not about the low ebbs of life. It is not about staring at a gruesome highway accident. It presents none of the base qualities potentially within us. I have the feeling people know the difference.

Please don’t tell me there is no better or worse in music.

A life devoted to finding the optimal chords of beauty carries far more power than one fixed on shocking my neighbor with the cacophony of violence.

Eric Shumsky is a concert violinist and the son of famed violinist Oscar Shumsky. For more information visit www.shumskymusic.com.

The world-renowned musician dazzled the audience. His technique in terms of digital dexterity was phenomenal—cat quick and razor sharp—a huge talent. But the felt quality of the music never made it to the audience, not in this age of “the one who is most cool wins.”

Why couldn’t I hear the music, hear it as music is meant to be heard? When the musician spoke to the audience, even though he was from another land and his English was stilted, he still came across as arrogant.

Musicians today are patted on the back when they open their engines full throttle and break sound barriers. Then they are awarded with huge record contracts. (That in itself is an achievement since the industry has dried up and produces only sound bites lasting 10 seconds and covering all composers from A to Z.) A musician is now the prizefighter who takes ’em down in four rounds and, with no blood on him, smiles to the camera. He is revered for at least 10 minutes.

Playing faster has the unintended result of making the result mostly meaningless; at the bottom of this kind of playing is a shallow goal. The audience doesn’t need a musical idea shoved down its throat by someone who plays passages at double the marking just because he can.

When in the presence of great musicians, we acknowledge that they know more than we. The joy is that we journey through the music together. But when musical knowledge is just pushed in your face at light speed to convince you of the virtuoso’s brilliance, the participation is gone.

I won’t go so far as to say that great performers are always great people, though they often do have a sense of greatness about them. But it is true that great performers miss the mark of Mother Theresa. Nonetheless, great music should do more for us than merely entertain—more for us than a card trick, or knockout punch, or a sexy smile.

I am often touched by the Gypsy violin playing in Romania, in Hungary; he who with one string sometimes imitates a howl of pain. There is no arrogance there. What is there is the artist being at one with that feeling. This is the profound beauty of music—the ability through sound waves to communicate—even if through guttural sounds depicting a tortured human in need of something, something necessary. The soul cries out to reach the heart, the center of his need. We humans do need.

I know what it can do to me. It can bring tears to my eyes, lift a black mood, or shed light on the vastness of our universe. I speak of many dimensions. I am not ashamed to feel nostalgic, nor am I ashamed to feel.

Recently I bought an old CD of violinist Georges Enesco playing short pieces. During the opening bars of his Handel D Major Sonata, I was awestruck. His message was the beauty of the sounds. I heard the music—the melding from one note to the next note, the vibrato living from one chord modulating to the next. Something happened to me: bumps on my arm, a tear in my eye, my feelings came alive.

Something else was in the air. The musical message was not trapped in a bunch of labels—it rode with the sound wave called music. When this happens, it is a great thing. We see and feel the evolution of music in a beautiful and natural way.
Arrogance was not in Enesco’s repertoire. Winning contests had nothing to do with it, nor record sales.

As for some of the recent concerts that I have attended, I’d like to issue a warning to some young, incredibly gifted musicians: Be careful about adopting these ways. Despite your technical ability, you are falling prey to buzz and hype. Find the pure way which rings true in your soul. Leave out the arrogance and the cheap tricks. Ignore what your friends say and the critics write. Tune in and listen to Kreisler, to Thibaud, to Rachmaninoff, Horowitz, and Elman. It is a difference you will know when you hear it, and then strive for something big.

Come on, you can do it. You already have the talent twice over.

Eric Shumsky is a concert violist. For more information, see www.shumskymusic.com.

The Reisman Trio, composed of sisters(L-R)Mona on violin, Shirley on piano, and Barbara Reisman on cello. (C) (Courtesy of Shirley Reisman)

Pianist Shirley Reisman recounts one frightening tour in the South with the Reisman Trio during the tragic summer in 1955 when 14-year-old Emmet Till was lynched for whistling at a white woman. Since the Trio was popular with black audiences, their hotel canceled their rooms, and their limousines had to use back allies for safety’s sake. But tour they did.

One of the first all-female trios in America, the highly talented sisters were signed up by Columbia Artists to blaze a tour across America. The Reisman sisters were born in Newark, New Jersey, of Jewish and Russian heritage and were famous on the East Coast. The tour thus opened a world to them and they, in turn, captivated audiences wherever they performed.

The Reisman Trio represented an emerging positive face for America in the 1950s and ’60s. Their music overcame race boundaries and linked them to humanity in an era when America was changing.

And yet their music was not the blues, jazz, or any pop favorites. They played classical music. In addition to the standard trio favorites of Tchaikovsky, Brahms, and Mendelssohn, the Reismans often featured shorter virtuoso pieces.

The Sisters

Shirley Reisman, the oldest of the sisters, is a remarkable pianist. Some of her luminary teachers included Rudolf Firkusny, and Wanda Landowska. She lived in Paris for a time and impressed many with her uncanny ability to turn a phrase beautifully.

Her magic on the keyboard cannot always be taught—it is just the precise ability to give each note its due measure, with a result we call rubato.

Her sister, violinist Mona Reisman-Schoen, earned extra money playing gypsy music (in addition to freelancing in all violin styles) at the prestigious Weylin Hotel in Manhattan. Great artists would frequent her performances where she was often the featured player.

Mona was taught by the greats Oscar Shumsky and Shmuel Ashkenasi, among others. She always had a very eloquent sense of taste and never fell for exaggerations found in the music of some modern-day players.

In later years, Mona was a principal player in the Chicago Lyric Opera. She and her virtuoso violist husband, William Schoen (formerly the principal violin with the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Chicago Symphony), performed many chamber music concerts together.

Last in the trio is Barbara Reisman, the youngest member of the group, who plays the cello. Barbara is so talented that she impressed the great Felix Salmond, teacher of Rose Miller and Orlando Cole.

Her career is remarkable. Beautiful as well as talented (she was Miss Newark in the 1960s) Bobby, as her friends affectionately call her, worked with the who's who of the cello world: Leonard Rose, Janos Starker, and Bernard Greenhouse. She was flexible enough to have been chosen by Charles Mingus, the great jazz bass player, to be featured on tours.

In addition, Bobby has a remarkable singing voice, has won competitions, and was a featured guest for the famous TV programs of Paul Whitman and Arthur Godfrey, in addition to having her own television program in Newark.

To this date, her prowess on the cello and vocally is unmatched. I know of no other artist who can sing the complex and great work by Heitor Villa-Lobos, "Bachianas Brasileiras," which demands dexterity and great pitch control from both the cello and vocal line.

Such beauty and talent coming from one family—remarkable!

Eric Shumsky is a concert violist. For more information, see www.shumskymusic.com .

VIOLIST KEN EDWARDS: Mr. Edwards teaching violin at E.L.L.I.S. Preparatory Academy in South Bronx. The school caters to the needs of new immigrant high school students from around the world. (Fliery Robinson)

Some artists, the shy ones, remain invisible to the public, yet their work does much to stimulate future generations—violist Kenneth Edwards is an example.

Kenneth Edwards studied at Juilliard in the 1970s when we were both students there. I had the pleasure of playing with Kenneth in the Symphony of the New World Octet sponsored by the Ford Foundation.  

I remember several performances of the Mendelssohn Octet and the Spohr Octet because, as an 18-year-old with little chamber music experience—just going on talent and instincts, I had my hands full due to my inability to master the viola sufficiently at the time.  

Contrary to what many violinists think—that little difference exists between a violin and a viola—keen ears will reveal that Ferrari reflexes are not always necessary in the Bentley.  

The similarity between the viola and violin is that both need to be played well and sound good. Despite my being scared at the time, I remember that time fondly. Sitting next to Ken was fun. Ken was always supportive and always humble. Although the music was always there—that is, although he played the heck out of the viola, he was never cocky—never. He was incapable of putting on an act. 

Ken Edwards was one of the best violists studying at Juilliard at the time. He was a very natural player with a beautiful bow arm. He cared about getting better and loved music.  

His teacher, former principal violist of the New York Philharmonic William Lincer, was a warm friend to me since he was a dear friend of my father, the legendary Oscar Shumsky. I knew that Lincer was proud to have Ken Edwards as his student. 

As a youngster growing up in Harlem, Ken was often accosted by tough guys beating him up for the little he had in his wallet. They threatened to take the viola from him and tormented him for trying to be a part of white culture. 

He was a terrific son and took care of his ailing mom. 

He delivered newspapers on his bike. 

I mention background details because they describe Ken’s way of playing and living. They point to his character. Currently, Ken is teaching violin as part of an after school program in the South Bronx. He has not changed. He’s still a great guy, encouraging youngsters to learn the basics—the very basics of music. I wonder if people know the value of a musician like this—one working behind the scenes—to our society? 

Certainly, he deserves a Philharmonic job or a quartet spot. Maybe he preferred freedom from “You should be doing this” or “Why aren’t you doing that?”

Freedom from competition and ego 

Today many hotshot players are bent on exterminating the competition through every aggressive bow stroke. Playing has been reduced to a machine gun proficiency at a high decibel level. The music is lost behind competitive egos. 

This is not to say that technical proficiency makes poor music. My father, as well as my uncle Bill Carboni, knew and adored one of the giants of all time—Fritz Kreisler. While Heifetz dazzled with a pearly runs at supersonic speeds (though make no mistake, he pierced your heart as well), Kriesler brought you back to earth with humanity. You ended up reflecting on the beauty of a lost love or of a cafe house in his beloved Vienna. 

Without the humanity beneath the technicality, music is meaningless. Today our hearts are closed and “perfection” has acquired only a mechanical meaning. We should change the word to something other than “perfection” or use it when we describe playing that is more profound and meaningful. What happens when you play chamber music with a truly good human being who not only has the goods, loves music, and is supportive? Beautiful things happen.  

Eric Shumsky is a concert violist. For more information, see www.shumskymusic.com.

A very old and treasured photograph of violin great Miriam Solovieff (Courtesy of Eric Shumsky)

Miriam Solovieff (d. 2004) was born in San Francisco in the early 1920s and was a family friend of my father Oscar Shumsky, as well as my Uncle William Carboni. But I learned little of her life in those years.

Later I discovered that Solovieff’s role model was actually not a violinist. In fact, it was Maria Callas whom she really loved. She actually looked like Callas in her younger years. It was the beauty of the character portrayal being at one with the music that Callas epitomized for her.

Naturally Solovieff’s flare for the dramatic was obvious, but really it was not a question of the dramatic. It was a question of making a character stand out, since to be a little speck on a tree did not interest her.

I studied with her in Paris in the 1980s, and this was the time that I got to know her. Although she no longer played at the time, her recordings of the Brahms "Sonatas" with Julius Katchen (sadly, never released), and the Schubert “Rondo,” as well as Rimsky Korsakov’s “Scherazade” can be found, and they reveal her wonderful talent.

My lessons would last for three hours, and then I would take her out for a lovely dinner, and we would talk for several more hours over good wine and beautiful French cuisine.

She had a very strong personality, and one needed to be on guard so as not to make a superficial comment which she might take the wrong way.

Miriam Solovieff had a reputation in Paris for saying something like: “You have no business entering this contest," or “You really should not be playing that piece.”

I heard the reports, and I knew the people who voiced these complaints. Yet if these musicians had been honest with themselves and stepped up to the plate with an earnestness to resolve the issue, she might have responded differently. If she respected your earnestness, she was there for you.

She was a superb teacher.

Hers was not an abstract approach at all. In fact, she was very straightforward—just play as beautifully as possible. This was no easy task.

When I played badly, she really let me have it with nothing held back. The rough bow change or the false accent—she mimicked them back to me, and hearing the sound myself felt like a Mike Tyson punch to the face. I came to realize that an accent in the wrong place destroyed an otherwise lyrical passage. She never swept intonation problems under the rug.

When she came to my concerts, sometimes I could tell by the look on her face what she thought, and then I did not ask for her opinion—I actually already knew. At other times when I really played well, she made me feel that my playing was on the highest level and ranked among the finest.

She could be brutally honest, but, in my case, she was actually hugely supportive. She even pointed out to me that I seldom supported myself even when things went well.

Where some teachers would make a neurotic problem out of a fault, she would present a simple solution which would always improve the way something sounded.

One last note: When Solovieff was still a child prodigy, her father murdered all of her family in front of her eyes and tried to kill her as well. She narrowly escaped, and then her father took his own life. Her mother, on her deathbed, pleaded with Miriam to play her Town Hall debut a few days later in New York City.

Miriam followed her mother's wishes and played a gorgeous recital, attended by many prominent figures. This feat in itself testifies to the great talent and character of Miriam Solovieff.

Eric Shumsky is a concert violist. For more information, see www.shumskymusic.com.

“Silverstein’s playing was wonderful. He inspired all present and served as a reminder of the greatness of music,” said Elaine Skorodan, a colleague of mine. An excellent violinist herself and a former pupil of Heifetz, Elaine had heard Joseph Silverstein in concert last month at the Jascha Heifetz Symposium of Individual Style in Connecticut.   

Mention the name of the great American violinist Joseph Silverstein to any string player and immediately the musician pours out accolades.

Silverstein, now in his 80s, is not only a great violinist—having served as concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra for decades, associate conductor of the same orchestra for years, and principal conductor of the Utah Symphony for over a decade—his great love for music imbues all he touches.

As if the above-mentioned posts were not enough, Silverstein has led the Boston Symphony Chamber Players and was an artist member of Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. He managed these positions while teaching violin at Yale University and at the Curtis Institute where he still teaches.

It doesn’t matter whether he wields a baton or bow; this legendary figure’s notoriety is justly deserved.

Joseph Silverstein trained first with his father, a violinist, from an early age. In the words of the great violinist, his father “was a most wonderful teacher and a very sensitive and intellectual man.”  

Mr. Silverstein studied with Josef Gingold and Mischa Mischakoff, both prominent figures in the violin world.

For a time Mr. Silverstein studied with the Greek pedagogue Demitrus Dounis who had wonderful concepts concerning beautiful and natural development of violin technique along physiological principles.
(Dounis had been a medical doctor in his native Greece.)

One of Mr. Silverstein teachers was Efrem Zimbalist, the great Russian violinist, teacher, and long-time head of the Curtis Institute of Music. (Zimbalist also taught my father, the great violinist, Oscar Shumsky.)

Silverstein later worked with Richard Burgin, the famed concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, before his own tenure with this very finest of American orchestras.

Playing in the Great Tradition
What is it about Silverstein’s playing which so captivates? Having heard him in several concerts including the Dvorak Violin Concerto and also in a solo concert in Alice Tully Hall Lincoln Center years back, I can confirm that he is a master of the violin from the golden age of playing.

In his hands the audience is not concerned with whether he will negotiate a difficult passage. That is a given, and his spectacular display of violinist ability is evident at once.

In keeping with the great tradition of golden age virtuosi, his playing is economy of motion. His bow does not thrash about. He stands still. For him less is more—much more, in its truest sense.

Mr. Silverstein has no time for cutesy movement, phony smiles, or distracting hype, which is characteristic of today’s Chromium Age of Fiddle Playing.

But today’s performers are not entirely at fault. We, the audience, like quick sound bites and our taste has evolved toward the Top Ten, Star Search Antics judged by people who don’t know much at all.

I would much rather take out my viola on the street informally or play for some good friends. It is more authentic.

Silverstein is one of the last musicians linked to the 19th century and early 20th century. To imagine the greats Joseph Silverstein met—after all, his teachers lived at a time when Alexander Glazunov was actively writing, Prokofiev was composing his Violin Concerti, and Tchaikovsky walked the streets—we must have reverence and respect for the sheer cultural influence these encounters must have had upon the musician.

The golden age was a time when the individuality of artists was at once recognizable by their own unique sound. It was a time of reverence and respect, a time when great musicians were humble in the face of their art.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

Back in the ’90s in a distant town in Washington state, I was violist for a Brahms piano quartet concert, and afterward concertgoers came back to greet the artists. Among the small group of well-wishers, a sweet little lady came up and told me she enjoyed the performance very much. She introduced herself as Camilla Wicks.

Mention the name Camilla Wicks to most violinists and they will rave about her recording of the Sibelius Violin Concerto, which rivals any recording out there. Listen to her recording of a live concert with the great Bruno Walter made in the ’50s and hear her Beethoven’s Violin Concerto—purely marvelous playing.

I had been such a fan of Ms. Wicks and here she was.

The child prodigy and famous violin student of Louis Persinger (one of the violin teaching legends of yesteryear) performed with many of the world’s top orchestras of her era and toured extensively in Europe.

She is known for her large repertoire, which includes lesser known works by Scandinavian composers in particular. It might be said that she has the soul of a Norwegian gypsy.

Camilla Wicks is not a household name because the noble lady made other choices. She raised a family of five and experienced life’s ups and downs.  Later, she taught violin at Louisiana State University, University of Michigan, and Rice University and was invited to head the String Department at the Oslo Royal Academy. She taught many of Norway’s leading violinists, including Henning Kraggerud.

A Violinist of the Old School
Perhaps only one or two today play violin in a grand manner like Camilla Wicks. Her technique is at the service of music. She creates a beautifully turned phrase, turned with a sense of humility and breathtaking soul.

Stripped of box office tactics, she is a grandmaster for those who prefer the reality, not the hype, not the paparazzi, sound bites, flashy dresses, or competition at the box office.

We live in a YouTube age where many deduce worth by the number of hits, and Camilla Wicks with only several hundred doesn’t quite reach the mark.

Yet, playing the violin is a difficult achievement. Here a small box of beautiful wood is capable of expressing such magnificent intent. A manmade wonder of art with four little strings resonating through the air to our heart strings.

Correct playing in my opinion can be described as that which is capable of touching us and that which is beautiful. Aesthetics are like sunshine; when the sun comes out you know it is there, and when someone with taste performs, the playing is not gaudy. It is balanced. It captivates and draws you in.

Since music is an escape, drawing us in from our mundane lives, it leads us away from clichés, toward the human experience deeply embedded into our DNA, filtered through the soul of an artist.
 
I was so impressed with Camilla Wick’s humility and lovely nature that I left the concert understanding that artists’ work mirrors how they are as people.

Simply put one does not have to be a diva to be a great artist. Ultimately, it even gets in the way.

She is a great example is a model to all of us striving to make beauty.

More about Camilla Wicks

• Awarded a lifetime professorship at the Oslo Royal Academy
• Made a Knight of the Royal Norwegian Order of Merit  
• Held the Isaac Stern Chair at the San Francisco Conservatory before retiring in 2005.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

Years ago in a beautiful chateau near the French border town of Strasbourg, I heard one of its residents, Israeli Joshua Epstein, give a concert of all of the 24 Paganini Caprices. Playing one of these violin pieces is difficult, but he played them all on a very high level.

I used to play chamber music with Epstein, the master violinist, and can attest to his formidable musicianship and confidence. His strong intellect dominates and a naturalness also shines through as though he was born with the violin as an extension of his body. One can feel his authority immediately.

Recently I heard him play a beautiful Beethoven concerto and his sound in the slow movement was a throwback to the golden years of great violin playing.

Born in 1940 Epstein was awarded many high-ranking prizes as a young man. His Bartok Solo Sonata from the Deutche Grammophon recording dating from the 1970s is one of the rare recordings highly coveted by collectors of violin music the world over.

Germany has been very fortunate to have him as a violin professor at the Hochschule für Musik in Saarbrücken, Germany.

All good musicians need to be serious because music is an art form which demands attention to detail. It is not forgiving and haphazard. It is highly structured.

In a world where poseurs abound, Epstein stands apart. While around other gifted musicians, rather than immerse himself in conversation about musical theories, he turns to immediately making music.

Not a theoretical artist, his art is about blood and guts and lots of intelligence. Oh, and I should mention a huge dose of talent. His art is a reminder to concentrate on the music at hand with no time for nonsensical stage antics. The music is the ultimate goal.

Yet the public, despite needing to be educated, wants to be entertained. As such it is a delight to have the model of Joshua Epstein, an intense fellow with humor and mischievousness at his root.

Last I heard, in addition to his post in Saarbrücken, Germany, Epstein was guest, teaching in Turkey at a beautiful spot. I think it is time to pack my bags and head over to Izmir for some chamber music.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

NEW YORK—New York has become a new center for the prestigious Mondomusica show. It features 164 exhibitors from 14 countries and is also held yearly in Cremona, Italy—the birthplace of the Cremonese violin-making masters.

The huge trade show featured stringed instruments and bows from around the world. Attendees to the April 10–12 show were allowed to purchase accessories and instruments as well as attend lectures and featured concerts.

The thought of Cremona conjures up such illustrious figures as Stradivari,Bergonzi, the Guarneri family, and the Amati family living 300 to 500 years ago. We think of luthiers hunched over, amber varnish sparkling, and knives ready to whittle a most perfect bridge.

In the music world these images have been a cliche for many years: The great Italian sound, the Stradivari sound, the Guarneri sound. Ah—the secret of the Italian sound in the varnish, the wood, and the resins.

The instruments of old master Italians are naturally objects of art appealing to the eyes and the ears. Their makers worked under tutelage of other great makers, some the founding fathers of violin- and viola-making school of Gasparo da Salò (1542–1609) from Brescia, as well as Andrea Amati of the Cremonese School (1505–1577). Both laid the bedrock upon which modern makers build.

There is an assumption that one can always tell the great Italian sound. Most of these stories are untrue. A great modern instrument can often outplay a tired, old stringed instrument in need of restoration.

I am sorry to dispel fables but for years and years tests have fooled blindfolded professionals, connoisseurs, trying to discern a new instrument from an old one.

Old instruments were once new, and the oldest makers once tried new things.The greatest string instrument makers perfected their craft through experimentation.

Antonio Stradivari tried a flatter arching on the violin than the norm, and it was really not until he worked on his own that he was able to test its acoustic virtues, namely its sound projection in larger halls.

The greatest of the great instruments are still wonderful, but it is so important not to underestimate fine newer instruments and that is what this wonderful show brings to the forefront.

Great Luthiers Today

This show beautifully illustrated modern artistry and craftsmanship. It also assured one that it needn’t cost a fortune to have a beautiful instrument. The high price comes from the rarity and antique value rather than intrinsic sound. As such, I was at once impressed by two makers.

A violin made by the young Italian violin maker Allesandro Commendulli sat antiqued in the style of one of the aforementioned masters of centuries before. When I put a bow on the strings, it seemed to crackle to life without the stuffy sound of old violins in need of restoration.

Many would be fooled by this lovely instrument. Many young aspiring violinists would find it a wonderful asset.

As I ventured further into the exhibit I came upon the violas of Fredrich Alber a German-born maker who moved to Montpellier, France years ago.

Trying his two violas was a breath of fresh air. They were at once responsive and excellent sounding instruments. Artistically they were very attractive and obviously created by a man who has immersed himself in this beautiful world. It also helped that he is a player of violin and viola and continues to play chamber music.

I was amazed by the variety of instruments and astounded by their quality.

Perhaps our world is overcrowded with so many makers—too much information out there, too many opinions, distractions, contests that can never hope to bring out the best. Yet all in all the exhibit provided an amazing display of beautiful stringed instruments and bows from many different countries.
The bottom line is there is a world of beauty being created, satisfying auditory and visual beauty indeed.

The terrific work of the organizers must not be forgotten. The show was a real treat and credit should go to organizers Claire Stefani, Susan Carmichael, and Elizabeth Marshall.

Despite the richness of the voice of the grandfather of stringed instruments, the contrabass or bass—an instrument that, in the right hands, tells its own story through great depth, color, and individuality—few bass players find much public recognition. However, two wonderful virtuosi should never be ignored again—American Joe Tamosaitis and Romanian Botond Kostyak.

When I was in my teens at Juilliard, I wanted to hear what other really gifted players were doing and to find out what they were all about as human beings.

In the early 1970s, I was studying the wonderful Franz Schubert sonata called the Arpeggione. (The sonata was written, in fact, for a special instrument called the arpeggione. In theory, it is a most remarkable instrument with many strings, fretted like a guitar but bowed like a cello. But in practice, it sounds feeble compared to the more nimble viola or incredibly rich cello.)  As I walked by the practice rooms, I was bowled over to hear emanating from a room some great sounds on a contrabass. The instrument was singing.

I know what it is to sing on an instrument because most of what my great late father Oscar Shumsky taught me was about the importance of this. At the time, I played trumpet as well as viola, and singing is paramount on that gorgeous instrument.

But here the contrabass was singing, and the player was Joe Tamosaitis. Joe is a very sensitive person, and my memories of him coaxing gorgeous sounds from the contrabass will not soon leave me. The richness provided by his burnished bass was extraordinary, and the piece danced.

Flash forward in time, and I am in the home of a very fine Swiss violinist, Emilie Haudenschild. I hear wonderful playing. At first I am confused since I think I am hearing the richest and deepest cello sound, played with a fleet virtuosic technique that many fiddlers would envy.

I knocked on the door and discovered Botond Kostyak, the great Romanian contrabassist practicing for an upcoming concert. He was tossing off runs and cascading harmonics, and they were sparkling up and down the fingerboard. He made it feel natural, easy, and it was enjoyable to watch.
 
His playing was contagious. I was ready to step up and transfer my viola fingers and bow to his bass. But something inside stopped me; I had too much respect for the extraordinarily hard work that he had put in to be able to give others the impression the playing was easy.

The bow technique of many contrabass players is mostly back-and-forth strokes. For most string players, however, back-and-forth bowing is considered an insensitive kind of playing because the strokes are not connected. The art of bowing has much to do with a beautiful legato stroke connecting the downward motion of the bow to the upward.
 
Though some bass players will remark on how different it is to play the largest of the stringed instruments, it is possible to apply the same technique. These two virtuosi have overcome the inherent difficulty of playing the longer strings of the bass that respond slower than those of an instrument with shorter strings, a violin, for example.  

But music is music. Connection from one note to the next is the same. Whether the sound emanates from a half-size violin or a fully fledged bass, the connection of musical notes imbued with feeling is what music is all about. Beautiful sound—singing—is paramount.

Botond, brother to the fine cellist Emeric  Kostyak, is a formidable virtuoso and presently teaches at the Vienna Hochschule and as well leads the bass section at the L’Orchestre National de Lyon. He is a person seemingly devoid of the diva qualities of many players these days. He has many remarkable YouTube videos to his credit.

Joe Tamosaitis, whose brother is also an excellent cellist, Bernie Tamosaitis, has few YouTube videos. But mention his name to great musicians in New York and they are great enthusiasts of his playing.

If you should see either name in a concert, run to get tickets.
 
Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

David Nadien, one of the last of the Golden Age violin virtuosi, has died. Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1926, he studied with Alfredo Betti, Adolf Busch, Ivan Galamian and Demitrius Dounis—the latter probably influencing him most.

In 1946 Nadien won the coveted Leventritt Award, a highly prestigious international competition for classical pianists and violinists, which helped to launch his career. His playing was much admired by Arturo Toscanini and Georges Szell, among many other illustrious figures in the music world.

Eventually David Nadien went on to become the concertmaster of the New York Philharmonic under Leonard Bernstein where he was often featured as a soloist with the orchestra. After many years as concertmaster, he decided to leave and was immediately engaged in the studio recording world where he thrived in New York in the ’60s and ’70s.

Nadien’s glorious sound, marvelous intonation, and tremendous sight reading abilities afforded him peerless status in that industry where contractors needed beautiful playing without wasting expensive recording time. Exquisite violin solos of his may be heard on the soundtracks of famous movies such as Serpico and in numerous excerpts from TV and radio.

Yet the serious artist and incredibly sensitive musician in him always remained to the core. In a most beautiful and natural way, his love of Kreisler and Heifetz before him allowed the violinist to be influenced but, at the same time, develop his own musical fingerprint, and a magical one it was.

The concert scene with its PR hazards, unfair colleagues ready to do political sabotage, and an often unknowledgeable public at large was not conducive to helping this rare artist to a career commensurate with his deserved stature. In this age of digital dexterity, politically correct and cerebral renditions, period playing practices, and 12 tone premieres, Nadien’s superior art stood out like a blazing meteor among contemporaries.

Thankfully in recent years the recording label Cembal d’amour has taken a great interest in David Nadien and issued many of his live performance recordings. With the advent of YouTube, Nadien’s reputation has deservedly reached cult status.

David Nadien is survived by his wife of many years Margot Nadien.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

CHICAGO—A cool breeze from the lake and the stunning architectural backdrop of Chicago’s skyline highlighted the beauty of what I was about to hear. The National Youth Orchestra of United States of America was playing at Chicago’s Millennium Park, and all seemed abuzz with anticipation.

In the background, excited and highly gifted young musicians crossed back and forth on stage. They did so, for more than anything else, to share their sense of joy at the event. With their red trousers, concert shirts, and red sneakers, the visual aspect sparked the imagination.

The large orchestra, comprising some of America’s best young talent, tours all over the globe. Assembled by Carnegie Hall’s Weill Music Institute, the orchestra conductors range from Valery Gergiev to David Robertson, who conducted on the evening I attended.

There is no question that the conductor had the complete attention of the orchestra members and that they truly appreciated his skills. The young musicians were also in awe of the violinist Gil Shaham, who has a remarkable ability to make playing seem easy.

The program consisted of works by Bernstein, Gershwin, Benjamin Britten (whose violin concerto Gil Shaham played), S. C. Adams, and Mussorgsky. Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, the final piece, stunned the audience, who sat spellbound by the ability of this special orchestra.

Some notes did need amplification because playing outside is different from playing inside, and the audience members’ inner ears compensated for some of the inconsistencies. But it was not long before we could sense a love for what was at hand and the task of proudly being part of a whole greater than all of its parts.

I must say, however, that these individual parts seemed some of the loveliest young musicians I have seen. I could see it in their faces that they were good people. I could sense that their pride was not egotistically motivated but that it was the excitement of the event: the re-creation of some masterworks.

These beautiful musicians included many wonderful young Asian performers in the string section. I mention the Asians since their general work ethic is so strong, and here the outcome showed so deeply.

As I listened, I could not help but mull over the thought that so many of our disturbed youth are involved in gangs, which prey on the less fit and less shrewd, and where the nastiest deeds are often answered by bullets buzzing and death.

Even realizing the hardships that many of these unfortunately trapped kids endure, I reflected for a minute on the contrast provided by the beauty and goodness of the National Youth Orchestra of United States of America.

These teens provide a different kind of role model. It is not at all about prissy kids involved in goody-two-shoes acts. No. It is about doing something meaningful and beautiful in this ever-so-short life.

These young people are role models in the sense of having courage. It takes courage to go with one’s impulse to discover beauty when your friends ask you to shoot the basketball through the hoop, to knock it out of the park, or to shoot a hole in one.

It takes courage to let a tear flow. It takes courage to feel rather than to be a numb appendage to a cruel pack of sheep.

Here we have kids who model excellence in fine playing. So fine in fact that when I closed my eyes, I could easily imagine I was hearing the Cleveland Orchestra on stage or even the Chicago string section. Yes, it sounded that good to me.

Maybe the fact that money is not the motivator has something to do with the contagious love for playing great music. But I knew—just from 50 yards away and seeing their fine bow arms traversing the strings at a near right angle, their wrists supple, their eyes focused on the music, and their phrasing simple and unforced—that I could see, feel, and hear their goodness and innocence.

Experiencing all of this made me sit up in my chair with great admiration and once again be reminded of what the human being is capable of achieving.

For more information, see carnegiehall.org

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

It was the early 1960s and time for me to choose an instrument to play at Purchase Grammar School. French horn, bassoon, tuba, clarinet? No, it was the cool-looking trumpet with beautiful gold lacquer that attracted me. It even smelled right, with newly added valve oil and pistons that could go up and down as fast as your fingers could move. That was it—I loved it!

My supportive father, Oscar Shumsky—the musical giant that he was—made sure I had a great teacher. He knew all musicians around the New York area, and he was not about to let his chubby little boy have anyone set an example but the finest. His very close childhood friend Arthur Statter (who played trumpet for Stokowski in the Philadelphia Orchestra) called trumpeter Peter Crino, and I was lucky enough to be mentored by the best.

The next week, Pete Crino drove up to the house. (Yes, I was so spoiled as to have him even come to me.) Pete was at once a charming and lovely gentleman. He had been one of the best pupils of legendary trumpeter William Vacchiano. How could I not love the guy. I thought, “This is going to be great!”

I always loved his demonstrations. Out of his horn came a lovely fat and rich trumpet sound. Trumpet playing is an addiction, and Pete’s sound was the stuff of rich, freshly brewed coffee or freshly baked apple pie. My biggest treat was playing duets with him at the end of the lesson. He was a very patient teacher and not at all neurotic—which is more than I can say for many other trumpet teachers.

He trained me well enough for my admission into Juilliard as a trumpet major, viola minor. Although these days I play only viola and pick up the baton when needed, I carry with me knowledge learned from Pete of the glorious trumpet and a respect for those who play the difficult beast.

As a young man, Peter played first trumpet with the Buffalo Philharmonic for many years and taught at Ithaca College well before I met him as a child. Subsequently, he became famous after settling in the New York City, Westchester area and was a highly sought-after musician for many shows and musicals on Broadway.

I have kept in touch with him through the years, and his wonderful wife Esther—they are family to me.

Flash Forward
Forty-five years after I first met Pete, he asked me if I would look at some music written by his grandson Steven Crino, a composition major at Temple University. Several weeks later, I received in the mail a work for viola and piano written by Steven Crino.

Thoughts flashed through my mind: “I don’t like much of what is written today. To me, cerebral music is on the same level as sophisticated noise. What will I tell the young composer with the world in front of him? If I don’t like his music, what will I tell him?”

My thoughts continued: “Certainly, his humble grandfather is made of tough stuff and knows what the real music world is like. Surely, in his lifetime he experienced times when he disliked the music put in front of him. He will prime young Steven about the rigors of the real concert world.”

But my fears were unnecessary. In looking over the composition—much to my pleasure—I saw at once the mind of a composer at work. Steven wrote sensitively for the viola and understood its capabilities. The romantic nature of the work is appealing, and his soul is obviously in the music. Leading from the heart, the cerebral training of counterpoint and harmony naturally followed.

I have since looked at Steven’s informative website, listened to excerpts of some of his other pieces, and have a strong feeling that this young artist’s future work will keep music where it belongs: on a higher plane than so much of what we experience in this life.

The two Crinos have contributed in no small way so positively to enrich our often-mundane world.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

Romania, land of eternal strife, was conquered by the Romans and survived the rule of brutal dictators. Yet Romania’s people have taken refuge in their magnificent countryside, cultural traditions, and their own sensitive natures. This refuge provides a fertile ground to nurture the artistic impulse in those who possess the seeds of greatness.

Eugene Sarbu is one of these rare mortals.

Born in Romania in 1950, Sarbu began to study the violin with his father at the age of 5. When he was 6, he made his first solo appearance and subsequently captured numerous coveted musical awards in his native Romania.

Yehudi Menuhin, one of the most distinguished violinists of the 20th century, recommended Sarbu for a scholarship at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. There he studied with the legendary professor Ivan Galamian, and later received a master’s degree from the Juilliard School of Music.

Sarbu has performed with the world’s finest orchestras, including the major orchestras of New York, Los Angeles, Pittsburgh, Vienna, Hamburg, Munich, and Tokyo, among many others. He opened the 1999–2000 season at Carnegie Hall in New York, performing the Brahms Violin Concerto with the American Symphony Orchestra to a standing ovation.

In 2000, the President of Romania bestowed upon the virtuoso the national Order of the Star of Romania, in recognition of his exceptional contribution to the art of music.

Artistically, Sarbu has great flair; and with his superbly supple bow arm, he is a pleasure to hear and to watch. His art has to do with expressing individual feelings and painting portraits, and so he captivates and even mesmerizes listeners. His completely natural approach is inborn, the stuff of which great players are made. Practicing cements his abilities, of course, but the core of his ability is innate.

With all the past glory and proof of Sarbu’s ability, the world is a very unforgiving place for an artist. People with great gifts often have too much dignity to be out selling their craft to the world.

In fact, the noble tradition of violin playing from which Sarbu sprang is rapidly disappearing in our digital age. Our entertainment-seeking public seems more enchanted with those who manipulate the latest sound bite or show off the sexiest outfit, the most outlandish hairdo, the graffiti on the fiddle, graffiti on the music, and graffiti on the brain. In short, the public needs noise to awaken them from their numbness.

Nor can I overestimate the damage done by music management monopolies. They eliminate whatever competes with box office results since that is, after all, their business. Haven’t business and the arts always been at odds, fundamentally?

Romania’s legendary composer-violinist Georges Enescu (1881–1955), who wrote the famous Romanian Rhapsody, has his image embossed on Romanian currency. At the mention of his name, the average Romanian beams with pride. What would the response here be to the name of an American composer or artist, I wonder?

For the discerning, look for performances by the rare artist Eugene Sarbu. He is an important link to a long-lost golden age of string playing. Let’s appreciate that we still have a few like him around today.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

Probably no more than 5 foot 3 inches tall, Joseph Fuchs (1899-1997) was a giant among violinists.

Few artists leave traces in my memory, yet Joseph Fuchs indelibly lives there. In this mysterious life we live—which is far more amazing than most of us realize—it is refreshing to experience the unexpected, the ever so direct voice of an artist, who, perhaps in one sense, is slightly awkward, not quite marching to the expected drumbeat, but yet so honestly and beautifully real, that when his inner musical world emerges, it cannot but help but to touch many. Fuchs was such an artist.

One particular Fuchs performance remains etched in my psyche. Decades ago at Alfred College in Maine, Fuchs directed a chamber music program of the Schubert String Quartet. It was heartbreakingly beautiful—immediately bumps stood out on my arm. I have yet to hear this very great quartet in D minor played so movingly.   Even remembering that Schubert quartet performance with his wonderful students gives me gooseflesh.

My sense is that Fuchs came from an older link than that of Jascha Heifetz and Nathan Milstein under the tutelage of Leopold Auer, whose stable of genii was unparalleled in violin history. Fuch, along with his sister Lillian (1901-1995), a great violist, was a link to Brahms. Fuchs’s famous teacher Franz Kneisel, himself a virtuoso violinist and the teacher of many great players, actually played chamber music with Brahms.

Kneisel, though he obviously adored Fuchs, was severe with him and even, perhaps, anti-Semitic, which is hard to believe since Fuchs, as well as his sister, were his star pupils.

Yet Fuchs proved himself on the battlefield of the concert stage. As concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra under Arthur Rodjinski, the master violinist powerfully led the Cleveland group helping to forge the string section into the ensemble it is today. Accounts from the late William Schoen, a personal friend and the former principal violist of Philadelphia orchestra, who heard the orchestra in the 1930s, mentioned to me just how strong Fuchs’s presence was.

Fuchs was a pure artist and a very strong character. He was a no-nonsense person. One never minced words with the master lest he slice you to size since words meant nothing to him. So aptly described in Yiddish, “tuches afn tisch” or “lay your cards on the table,” he was an example of “Prove it, with what you do.”

Fuchs’s approach, therefore, was not of the scholarly sort. He was musically intuitive and that had to do with knowing and living through the art of playing violin.

Mention to him any of the great violinists, and Fuchs would immediately make you feel he was better than they. But never be foolish enough to mention a poseur, for he questioned fame, knowing too well that most folks did not know what they were talking about.

When he played, the bow was rock solid and wonderfully elegant. He was not a showoff, but who could help but be dazzled as he glared at you while playing one of the most amazing upbow staccato in existence.

When Fuchs was 90 years old, his playing was shocking—shockingly good! The bow arm beautiful, the now sparser vibrato still glowed gorgeously with burnished embers. Pure sound was at the heart of it.

These memories of Joseph Fuchs’s concerts evoke an everlasting glow.

And the Fuchs family legacy continues. Lillian Fuchs’s daughter, Barbara Mallow, is famous cellist, and Mallow’s daughter, Jeanne Mallow is a very gifted viola player. Jospeh Fuchs’s daughter, Elinor Fuchs, teaches dramaturgy and dramatic criticism at Yale.

Listen to a recording of Beethoven’s Kreutzer sonata with Joseph Fuchs on violin and  Artur Balsam on piano.

 Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

“Do the thing, and you shall have the power,” Ralph Waldo Emerson said. Master violinist Ilya Kaler is the embodiment of this idea: He has the ability to do the thing.

While some may dispute the importance of contests to ferret out true talent, Kaler has won top prizes in the world’s largest contests: first prize in the Tchaikovsky International Competition in Moscow, first prize in the Paganini Competition in Genoa, Italy, and first prize in the International Jean Sibelius Violin Competition in Helsinki. This is an unbelievable feat; his many judges, unanimous across these competitions, certainly indicate victory for a major talent.

I heard Kaler in a recent Chicago concert performance playing the fiendishly difficult Paganini Concerto, as arranged by the great Austrian violinist Fritz Kreisler (1875–1962). The work brought a twinkle to my eye, especially after hearing the harp enter during the brigade of violin leaps and arpeggios at the onset.

This work based on the Paganini D major concerto was transformed by Kreisler into a delightful work—it could almost serve as a prelude to a Franz Lehar opera. Incredibly difficult, it needs to be played with a charm that few but Kreisler could imbue it with, all while displaying trapeze feats of a daredevil sort.

The recordings of Kreisler playing his own works seem to evoke vignettes of his life. The elegance of a bygone age and heart-rending nostalgia of a childhood alive with sensibilities and filled with wonder are clear in these masterful performances. The adjective “jaded” is not even in his musical vocabulary.

And yet he is not a household name. Nor does it matter. Often an artist’s beautiful qualities can become tainted from pandering to what’s expected once they become famous. Often fame becomes a chain, forged from a series of gratifying ego games.

It is said that the level of string playing has improved over time. I am not sure about that. Perhaps the rank-and-file players hit fewer wrong notes at orchestra auditions now, but among the greats—absolutely not. The playing instead has deteriorated.

Early music performances have poisoned our taste for the greatest period of composing—the Baroque. In the past, full-bodied performances by masters reflected Bach’s romantic lines. Instead of beautifully dovetailed phrases, we are now pacified by impotent ghastly swells and clichéd ideas that players adhere to like a car manual. We are left with premeditated pseudo-intellect that has replaced heart, which, unbelievably, is shunned.

In recent times, PR teams and event organizers concoct box office tricks and market those who play faster and louder by concentrating on the outfits, the hairdos, the swaying back and forth onstage, to sells tickets.

What does that have to do with music? Why does pure artistry and mastery of the craft take a back seat to show biz antics?

Perhaps we are bored, narrow, exhausted human beings needing to impress our friends with just how smart we are—without our having any real knowledge. Perhaps it is an easy solution to jump on the bandwagon of the latest star.

In the past, the true test—aside from intonation and terrific facility (which is almost a given)—was a gorgeous sound and the innate ability to turn a phrase so as to capture the magic of the composer’s intent.

In the past, all was stripped down, and form and elegance without distractions mattered.

In the past, it was a hallmark of the greatest artists to see who in fact moved least and who played most beautifully.

In the past, the best playing not only reflected the composer’s intent but also stamped the performance with the fingerprint of the individual player.

Kaler is a man of the past. Born in Moscow in 1963 and trained at the Moscow Conservatory, he studied with Leonid Kogan, Victor Tretyakov, and the lesser known Abram Shtern.

During the Golden Age of violin playing, Jascha Heifetz, Oscar Shumsky, Nathan Milstein, David Oistrakh, Fritz Kreisler, Mischa Elman, Toscha Seidel, Leonid Kogan, Zino Francescatti,  Arthur Grumiaux, Henryk Szeryng, and Joseph Fuchs, among others, left their marks.

In Kaler’s art is revealed a very sensitive human being and a prodigiously gifted violinist. How refreshing that such a worthy player as Kaler pays tribute to this bygone Golden Age. 

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

From John Philip Sousa to John Williams, from Herb Alpert to Aaron Copland and Henry Mancini, the Dallas Brass led by trombonist Michael Levine completely enchants.

Several days ago, I saw their beautifully worked out program. It tied whole periods and whole genres of music together—pop, rock, classical, jazz—and demonstrated music’s highest mission: to deeply touch another human being.

In other instances, following the theme of an American panorama of music, Barraclough played in the style of Harry James and Herb Alpert. His uncanny ear and the power of his embouchure enabled him to reach the trumpeters’ heights and into the realm of Doc Severinsen or Harry James.

Featured in this concert was Chris McWilliams, a drummer who imitated the legendary Gene Krupa in one work amazingly well. In another piece, he was featured on xylophone playing a virtuoso work of a hair-raising sort, bringing humor to the audience and simultaneously eliciting from us respect for his sheer mastery.

Juan Berrios, who played horn and alto horn (the latter an instrument not heard often enough), had the instrument singing in a manner foreign to most horn players. They are often overly careful of missing notes and strip their sound of vibrato. It was therefore heartwarming and joyful to hear Berrios and his rare artistry.

Paul Carlson played the glorious and all but forgotten tuba. In Carlson’s hands, the bass was of course richly provided, and yet he had the flexibility to play very high solo work with dazzling panache. His range from the bottom to the top register was seamless, and he made the tuba playing seem effortless.

None of these glories would be possible were it not for the tireless leader, Michael Levine, who put the whole group and concept together.

Levine, so able on the stage, speaks to the audience with great humor and intelligence and, above all, soul. He is never at a loss for words, given, musician that he is, that he knows exactly what he is talking about. Very few musicians have such control and rapport with an audience.

The trombone is a very beautiful instrument in the right hands as Levine showed throughout the evening, for when he played a solo, he never missed a beat. His incredibly mellow trombone sound prevailed.

Art Worthy of Supporting

It saddens me that so fine a group as the Dallas Brass struggles for support. I have heard they are magnificent at clinics held throughout the country and the world. Young children exposed to music in such a joyful way would be electrified by its beauty and become converts immediately. And the old with less spark and enthusiasm would come alive when their souls, too long in storage, were touched.

With the ability the Dallas Brass has to educate and to touch audiences around the globe, the group is a national treasure.

A bit of soul-searching could certainly turn on the philanthropic spirit in the artistic souls of those who really care and can see the wonderful good of this group.

To contact Michael Levine: mail@dallasbrass.com  

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.

“Silverstein’s playing was wonderful. He inspired all present and served as a reminder of the greatness of music,” said Elaine Skorodan, a colleague of mine. An excellent violinist herself and a former pupil of Heifetz, Elaine had heard Joseph Silverstein in concert last month at the Jascha Heifetz Symposium of Individual Style in Connecticut.   

Mention the name of the great American violinist Joseph Silverstein to any string player and immediately the musician pours out accolades.

Silverstein, now in his 80s, is not only a great violinist—having served as concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra for decades, associate conductor of the same orchestra for years, and principal conductor of the Utah Symphony for over a decade—his great love for music imbues all he touches.

As if the above-mentioned posts were not enough, Silverstein has led the Boston Symphony Chamber Players and was an artist member of Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. He managed these positions while teaching violin at Yale University and at the Curtis Institute where he still teaches.

It doesn’t matter whether he wields a baton or bow; this legendary figure’s notoriety is justly deserved.

Joseph Silverstein trained first with his father, a violinist, from an early age. In the words of the great violinist, his father “was a most wonderful teacher and a very sensitive and intellectual man.”  

Mr. Silverstein studied with Josef Gingold and Mischa Mischakoff, both prominent figures in the violin world.

For a time Mr. Silverstein studied with the Greek pedagogue Demitrus Dounis who had wonderful concepts concerning beautiful and natural development of violin technique along physiological principles.
(Dounis had been a medical doctor in his native Greece.)

One of Mr. Silverstein teachers was Efrem Zimbalist, the great Russian violinist, teacher, and long-time head of the Curtis Institute of Music. (Zimbalist also taught my father, the great violinist, Oscar Shumsky.)

Silverstein later worked with Richard Burgin, the famed concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, before his own tenure with this very finest of American orchestras.

Playing in the Great Tradition
What is it about Silverstein’s playing which so captivates? Having heard him in several concerts including the Dvorak Violin Concerto and also in a solo concert in Alice Tully Hall Lincoln Center years back, I can confirm that he is a master of the violin from the golden age of playing.

In his hands the audience is not concerned with whether he will negotiate a difficult passage. That is a given, and his spectacular display of violinist ability is evident at once.

In keeping with the great tradition of golden age virtuosi, his playing is economy of motion. His bow does not thrash about. He stands still. For him less is more—much more, in its truest sense.

Mr. Silverstein has no time for cutesy movement, phony smiles, or distracting hype, which is characteristic of today’s Chromium Age of Fiddle Playing.

But today’s performers are not entirely at fault. We, the audience, like quick sound bites and our taste has evolved toward the Top Ten, Star Search Antics judged by people who don’t know much at all.

I would much rather take out my viola on the street informally or play for some good friends. It is more authentic.

Silverstein is one of the last musicians linked to the 19th century and early 20th century. To imagine the greats Joseph Silverstein met—after all, his teachers lived at a time when Alexander Glazunov was actively writing, Prokofiev was composing his Violin Concerti, and Tchaikovsky walked the streets—we must have reverence and respect for the sheer cultural influence these encounters must have had upon the musician.

The golden age was a time when the individuality of artists was at once recognizable by their own unique sound. It was a time of reverence and respect, a time when great musicians were humble in the face of their art.

Eric Shumsky is an American concert violist, chamber musician, and conductor.