cyntillating sounds: w

a column on the state of classics

A Master with Class

Now that his famous trio has called it a day, master pianist Menahem Pressler has a bit more time

for his just-as-famous master classes. At the moment, the maestro has settled into a

hotel in Amsterdam where classes are taking place for three days running at both Concertgebouw

and Conservatory, spiced tomorrow night with a concert of Beethoven cello sonatas together

with his trio colleague Antonio Meneses.

At this morning’s session, two trio’s took the challenge to take a lesson en plein publique,

knowing full well that bearing the brunt of the maestro’s critique was more than worth it

considering what they were going home with: the energy, experience and inspiration of

one of the world’s most beloved chamber musicians. So the ‘why’ from the point of view

of the students was instantaneously clear.

The ‘why’ from the point of view of the audience can perhaps best be considered by dividing

the ‘Kenner’ from the ‘Liebhaber’. The Concertgebouw’s Recital hall was well filled:

many students and teachers were there of course, as well as a dedicated public of (older)

classical music fanatics. Obviously the first came to learn. Did the others come to enjoy,

to poke fun at seeing a series of whippersnappers gets their comeuppance from the Master?

Perhaps to an extent, yes, in a hiccup of human nature; but there was a decided warmth

from this public as they gratefully witnessed the work that goes on behind the scenes of

concert life. You could feel their amazement at the youngsters’ dedication, their awe in

the sweat and tears that are prerequisites for a life in music.

‘Routine is a four letter word!’ is just one in the arsenal of Menahem Pressler’s

pronouncements on the never-ending story of being a musician. And as he took apart

measure for measure, dynamic for dynamic (what…do you know better than Beethoven?

here he writes piano…what does that mean?), as he focused with the musicians in a

manner they perhaps had really never done together, the world fell away, the traffic was gone,

the public didn’t dare to cough, and the spotlight was aimed at something miraculous.

A new generation was enriched by the one (or two!) preceding it: tradition and knowledge,

love and dedication were being passed on in the ritual that we term the master class.

And don’t forget the humor!: ‘now that was the chicken who stayed alive in Georgia’ to a clarinetist

with a single, accidental swawk…and to those same young musicians from Georgia:

'why do you rush…are the Russians coming?’

The lesson is in itself a performance, well thought, well said, well timed.

What was even more special this morning, was a glimpse at Pressler’s own motiviation.

When there were not enough questions from the floor…'what, don’t you want to ask anything?’,

Pressler explained why he does these master classes, after such a successful career, on the verge of

turning 86, when he could easily fill his entire week listening to his own renowned recordings at his

home in Indiana:

‘Perhaps I can open a door. Perhaps you just play it my way here, and go home and go back to your

own way of doing things. But still, maybe you feel a difference; wrong notes are acceptable, but

notes that have no feeling are completely unacceptable…compared to Beethoven we are all

still pupils.’

When you have time for a master with a surplus of class, come by the concertgebouw.