Bobby deMaine's Journal

Chroma

2010-04-15T20:30:00.000-07:00

I love this wonderful combination. This is a very special ensemble. Please stay tuned for more!

Bravo, bravissimo to the Parisii Quartet and Toby Appel for a great, memorable event!

And, try not to break any bows, and don't feed the squirrels...........good advice from one who has learned the hard way.........

Hi, Orion!

2010-03-29T17:10:00.001-07:00

I just want you to know that you're my idol. Say hi to your parents for me!

I Miss My Friend

2010-01-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

Mark F. Bayoff 1949-2010 requiescat in pace.

Call to action

2010-01-01T18:56:00.000-08:00

As artists, we must do everything we can to get off our asses and get our current system off life-support. Take, for instance the magnanimous gift, the selfless generosity of one heiress to not only bail out one of the country's most troubled symphony orchestras, but to create a potential situation in which that institution could not only survive, but flourish. Of course, some of us have as much faith in the people handling the moolah as we do in the Tooth Fairy (perhaps he/she could do a much better job, actually).

I digress...but, my main point is that relationships with donors/sponsors are fostered over years and generations. It's apparent to me that this phenomenon occurred in the city referred to in the previous paragraph. Thank-you letters are important. My in-laws give money annually to 3 or 4 great rust-belt orchestras. My wife's parents INVARIABLY receive exuberant, gushing, handwritten letters expressing the gratitude of the organization for their generosity. From all but one.

We must all do our part, whether it's writing a seemingly unimportant line or two in a 29-cent card with a 44-cent postage stamp. For Christ's sake, at least send a Goddamned e-mail. Shame on those who proclaim that they have gratitude, but have nothing with which to back it up, other than endorsing the back of the check.

We musicians owe more than just doing our job, too, and I am aware that we do an extraordinary amount above and beyond our job description. But that's still not enough, and it's far from everybody. Is it my imagination, or are those who do the least amount of external work the ones who bitch the loudest, and create further acrimony between management and labor? This is not an overt indictment of either side (there shouldn't even BE two sides to this), but a call to action. Get off your asses, those of you who care about your future and being custodians of the future of the Fine Arts, and go the extra mile. This is not over yet, but it will be soon enough. True, happenings are cyclical, and one may luck into a windfall, but that's not luck. That's cultivation.

I remember Janos Starker telling me once that if I'm going into this business for the fame or for money, then I shouldn't waste my time. It didn't matter, because I've been an artist since I was very young, and I got bitten by the bug, and I'm a hopeless addict. Starker told me that there will be times in my career that will be meager, and I have weathered those storms, and am prepared for the one whose vortex we all appear to be in (apologies for the dangling preposition; James Joyce I'm not). My love for music and my craft have sustained me through the worst of times: through alcoholism, through a terrible breakup of a marriage, and the deaths of both of my parents. It is worth saving.

Step up, O you bitchy ones...do something. Put up or shut the hell up.

I still love you all,
XO,
BOB

Singularity of Purpose or Simple-mindedness?

2009-11-18T17:53:00.000-08:00

Howdy. Oh, certain names have been changed to protect the real-life innocent and guilty. If I embarrass my great violinist-friend, then he will contact me and tell me to bugger off (and by court order/force majeure, persuade me by threat of blunt-force trauma to my abundantly shiny cranium with a tire iron or Louisville Slugger to erase any reference to himself or his passions from this missive).

Here's a thought-provoking message I received from a dear colleague whose son-daughter Bjorn-Svetlana was studying a musical instrument at an august, well-known, highly regarded conservatory under the expert tutelage of the equally vaunted Herr Doktor Frau Professor von Unsinn-Griffbrett:

Hi, Robert,
I drove home yesterday remembering a weird conversation between _____ _____ (teacher) and ____(student). It went something like, "Student, you're interested in many things; therefore you're not a "true" artist. If you were, you would only have one passion."

Ummmm...my analysis, doubtless with tons of excess verbiage (I'm not trying to sound smart; I swear! But the supportive intent is evident, IMHOMF):

Dear Esteemed Colleague,

If indeed this story is true, then it is in the category of unenlightened bullshit. Fritz Kreisler had a medical degree, managed to become one of the brightest lights in the musical stratosphere, performing and composing as well as practicing medicine during WWI. Dvorak was obsessed with locomotives, and knew train specs and schedules by heart; a certain very well-known concert violinist loves the Red Sox at least as much as he loves his wife, and he works on his vintage Corvette (which he took apart piece by piece and reassembled it in his garage.) Charles Ives was a frickin' insurance man, for crying out loud. If I continued with this list, my iPhone would likely explode.

No, the notion that an "artiste" must possess singularity of purpose is a weak one indeed. The true artist often enjoys, obsesses, amuses himself with countless disparate pursuits simultaneously which ultimately enrich his artistry by living and savoring life and finding the wonder and magic in so many other windows of experience. One must live in order to call oneself an artist; he may be living and savoring life through multiple obsessions!

Artists are mirrors of God (there - I said it); they create and recreate, which is a divine action. Only when one lives and loves life (and not only in the vacuum of the practice cubicle or Study Hall), can he transcend the abstract symbols on a page and enter into the realm of artistry. Otherwise, it's just another fucking mundane, mindless activity, like a video game. "Singularity of purpose of the task at hand" is the name of the game here. That's different from being a "jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none." How boring and senseless to develop only one dimension of his unique persona, how bereft of life-living! There be dilettantes galore who only experience one meager side of the infinitude of treasures that only the curious, determined, and obsessed shall uncover.

Done ranting. Just my two cents worth.

XO,

Sellouts

2009-11-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

Kentucky Grilled Chicken! KGC? Pussies.

L O L

2009-11-05T09:11:00.000-08:00

I like to practice my French when my inhibitions are low (never). Oddly, I've befriended some Haitian chambermaids who think I'm a stand-up comedian. I assured them that I'm a musician, and that I only look funny (mind you, I'm trying to say this in French, which is precisely why they think I'm a jokester). Anyway, this dynamic has been an unexpected joy on this particular trip: these sunny, beautiful people with smiles that could crack marble and instantly put anybody in a good mood ---- and, Yours Truly trying his damndest to express himself in his ancestral language....Haitian patois well-spoken vs. Normand patois spoken like a five-year-old. I guess that does make me funny, but only accidentally.

Why does the Ahi Tuna taste weird? Room service needs to be ringed...hope I don't barf.

Gettin' back on the horse...

2009-11-04T21:11:00.000-08:00

Well, I figure I'd better write something, since my cello is busy practicing itself. Besides, Beethoven is so boring (OK, in case none of you has a sense of humor, just read on). The real Problem is, since Betsy and I liberated ourselves from the expense of cable television at home, I'm forced to watch television constantly in my hotel rooms when I'm away pretending to play concerts -- this room here in a charming Boca Raton throwback Art-Deco high-rise, being utterly fascinated and besotted by the latest discovery of the "new" serial killer in Metro Cleveland (there must be others who are getting away with it; it's scary to think how much bullshit people are getting away with in Detroit...) Anyway, this sounds like a subject for Ann Rule to pounce on, and I'm sure she's already en route to the scene. This is reminding me of the John Wayne Gacy discovery.

Nancy Grace is a unique moron. I wish I could make her head explode just by looking at her on tv, as in the movie, "Scanners." My God, I'm old.

Bryan W., I dare you to vont-sivvit.

More drivel later...

B

Alas, the cello is NOT a saxophone...some helpful drivel for cellists...

2009-10-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

Please, O please, I beg: just listen. One mustn't expect the poor cellist to saw his/her instrument in half. No matter what, it will never be a trombone, a bombarde, a biniou, an amplified Javanese gamelan, a Cadillac's horn, the din of a Steinway being dropped from the 7th-and-a-half floor of the Merton-Flemming Building onto the sidewalk below. Please, O Please, I beg: just remove the wax from your ears and have mercy on the magic of the sound of the cello and do not expect to hear or see a herd of elephants. Our bodies will thank you, and we will happily play for you much more beautifully all day long or as long as you wish, as it is much more of a natural phenomenon to cradle and caress rather than squeeze and smother. Pure love distilled through pure, unadulterated (and even at times forceful), natural movement, all the while enjoying the dance and the oneness that is created when this phenomenon is achieved. Competition is for athletes, not artists, and the cello is not a 500kg barbell that we have made it over the last couple of generations.

Cellists, be smart, and follow your musical and artistic instincts - not your less noble competitive urges. It is not a video game or a 100-yard dash. Elfentanz will lose its charm, and Bach played out of a textbook becomes a sterile exercise in non-expressive futility. Be honest with yourselves, use common sense, establish sensible parameters (or an appropriate "canvas," if you desire a visual-art metaphor), and start slowly and gently. That will guide you to your destination much more enjoyably, and yes, efficiently.

Love and respect every minute of the journey, and keep it all in perspective, even if you feel you haven't found your voice. It is there, and you may have to "pry your lid" off more persistently than others, but you must trust that it is there.

OK -- that's my pep talk for myself every day. I suspect it might be helpful to other cellists who struggle with self-improvement, too.

Reflections

2009-09-06T08:11:00.001-07:00

OK, I might as well just dive in. Having just returned from a short but intense trip to Europe, my mind is occupied not only by the hope that my Haydn recordings will turn out reasonably well, but by my visit to the Zentralfriedhof (Central Cemetery) in Vienna.

Now, one might think a person strange, eccentric, bizarre for wanting to visit a cemetery as soon as stepping off an airplane in an alien land, but as all my friends and acquaintances can attest, I am a certifiable weirdo with odd hobbies and obsessions, one of which being genealogy - for me, the duty and even pathological compulsion to pay homage to those who paved the way for us (for example, Yours Truly has traced various branches of his family back to medieval Normandy and Brittany, gotten heavy into Y-DNA and mt-DNA analysis, and probably will not stop until he reaches the caves at Lascaux.)

Having checked into my hotel right after taking the CAT Train into central Vienna from Schwechat Airport, I decided that I would not be intimidated by the city's transit system (or by the fact that my German is precisely as good as my Cantonese). So, undaunted, I grabbed every free map I could, and figured out exactly where this beloved place was and how to get there. For those of you who don't know already, the Zentralfriedhof is an immense necropolis - a massive cemetery - the most beautiful and peaceful place I have ever had the privilege to visit (the only other graveyard that had a similar effect on me was the famed Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires, where the wealthy, self-important, and genuinely important Argentine denizens rest in pacem ad infinitum, including the ubiquitous Evita.) At any rate, having relied on my rudimentary German (despite having studied the language for six years), and my collection of maps, I made a bee-line for the Zentralfriedhof.

The day was hot as hell - easily 90 degrees Fahrenheit and at least 250% humidity (one could have mistaken the climate for Galveston's this time of year). I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, having anticipated much cooler weather. When I reached one of the entrances to the cemetery, I asked the guard/attendant (who did not charge me the 3 Euros admission, so to whoever you are, Herr _____, Vielen Dank!) I asked Herr _____ where the great Komponists were buried, and he told me that they were straight ahead a few hundred meters, and then to the left. Now, one must understand how lucky this particular pilgrim was to have selected this particular entry to the cemetery. Even with its immense beauty, the sheer enormity of the place is forbidding.

So, above are a few images of my journey. Photographs do not do justice to this great place, and there are no existing words (at least that I can think of) to adequately describe the spectrum of emotions that this place has evoked in me and countless others who have visited it. Generally speaking, my eyes remain a Mojave Desert when I'm sad or happy, but I just could not help myself when visiting the garden of memorials to Beethoven, Schubert, and Brahms.

P.S. As I write this, I am listening to the broadcast recording of the final performance of the Seattle Chamber Music Society's 2009 Summer Festival, in which I had the honor of playing the G Minor Piano Quartet of Johannes Brahms with James Ehnes, Richard O'Neill, and Orion Weiss. What can one say? Risking the tendency to be sentimental, OK, I'm still gonna say it: life, with its subtle and often strange connections and nuances, is a wonderful thing.

Thanks for reading (of course, I'm probably the only one!)

Yours truly,

BOBBY

Hello!

2009-09-05T08:57:00.001-07:00

Welcome to my brand new blog. Since I will probably be the only one ever reading it, please go shave now.