I am sitting on a park bench on Boston Common playing my viola da gamba.  I figure I will give my piece on last run through before I present it to Maestro Jordi Savall at the Master Class in a few minutes.  I am almost sure I will perform from memory, but not 100% positive.  As I reach the apex of the piece, a voice interrupts me. “Hey man, do you play for the Boston Pops?”

 

I open my eyes to see a grungy street person staring at me.  “No, unfortunately!”  I pack my instrument and walk a few blocks to the French Library and Cultural Center.  There are people lined up in the street trying to get in.  I use my instrument as a battering ram and get inside.  I go to the performance area and slide my gamba under the harpsichord.  Some lady asks me to write my name and what I will be performing for the Maestro.  I write Also Sprach Zarathustra and hand it back.  In reality I am playing Le Labyrinth by the 18th-century master Marin Marais.  The room gets extremely crowded as more and more people push their way in.  Maestro shows up 20 minutes late and offers his apology explaining that two of his musicians were late at the airport and they had to squeeze in a rehearsal for his evening concert.

 

The first player gets ready to perform.  He tried to give Maestro a copy of the piece he is about to play, but Maestro does not need to look at the music.  He begins to play Death by the English composer and mercenary Tobias Hume.  It is amateur playing, not what you would expect at the Boston Early Music Festival, but he does manage to get through the piece.  Maestro looks right at the guy and says “Let me ask you a question — what do you do for a living?”  “I’m a licensed massage therapist.”  Maestro nods.  “Well, I had to ask you because I would have to say different things to you if you were trying to be a professional, but anyone can play the Viol, for their friends and family, but if you want to give pleasure to them, maybe there are a few things I can help you with.”  Savall takes him through the beginning blowing exercises.  I am immediately reminded of Sylvestro Ganassi’s admonition in his 1542 treatise Regola Rubertina: draw the bow straight across the string, well-nigh from hand to pointe, and from pointe to hand, and until you have achieved this, think of nothing else. I guess this guy was thinking about Massage Therapy instead of his bow stroke!

 

The next victim is a woman I met at a Gamba Seminar about 15 years ago.  I have not seen her since.  She is playing the first two movements of Bach’s second gamba sonata.  Her posture and the rightness of her lips tell of a sensitive soul ravaged by the harsh realities of the Music Business.  I learn later when I take her for a drink at the Ritz-Carlton that she has become a Librarian.  Maestro pegs her immediately as a cellist, and a very good one, but the gamba is not the cello and Maestro takes her through the beginning exercises, endeavoring to produce a ringing, resonant sound, not at all like the cello.

 

It is now my turn at the Master Class.  I pull my case out from beneath the harpsichord, open it, get out my bow and put rosin on it, take my gamba from the case, then I turn and address Jordi Savall. “Maestro, over 20 years ago, in 1977, I was in New York City at the apartment of a friend.  He had some new records, this was before CDs, and we put on your recording of the piece I am about to play.  Maestro, on that day I was blessed — [I take my seat and turn to him] and cursed!”  I move the music stand out of the way and begin to play from memory.

 

The piece is Le Labyrinth from the fourth book of Marais.  After studying it for over two decades I have developed an eccentric and passionate performance practice to display this music.  In my opinion, this is program music — its story sis the myth of Theseus from Ovid’s Metamorphosis.  I have simplified this complex Greek myth to three major elements:  Theseus the Hero, his lower Ariadne, and the Minotaur, the monster.  Theseus meets Ariadne, they dance, they fall in love, they enter the Labyrinth where the Minotaur lives hoping to slay the beast, and with the help of a golden thread Ariadne is unwinding behind them, find their way out of the maze and join their friends at the Court for a Grand Chaccone.

 

The piece is unwinding well, I have a little trouble because the chair has a huge lump right where I place my derrière, but my eyes are closed as I surf the great tsunami of this music, I slip but do not fall, I crack but I do not shatter.  I am working a high-wire act without a net, to fall would mean humiliation, depression, death (I have a sudden insight as to the true meaning of the Hume piece I heard earlier — perhaps I will program it, if I live!).  I meet the Monster and do battle.  There is a chase scene — Ariadne and I turn to leave the Labyrinth, but the Monster still lives!  With great and bold bow-strokes I slay the Beast beyond any doubt.  Now begins the great Chaconne that leads to the end. 

 

This morning I was playing along with Savall’s recording and his tempo was indeed regal, and restrained.  I decide to give them my American interpretation, where I turn to Ariadne and say “Hey, Baby, let’s blow this pop stand and get a pizza, a 6-pack, and a cheap hotel room!”  I race towards the finish, blithely ignoring all sense of decorum and historical authenticity, ripping through the mammoth chords at the end of the piece with utter abandon.  I finish with a huge arpeggiated flourish (my homage to the Dvorak Cello Concerto) and leap to my feet as the crowd goes wild!

 

I immediately turn to Savall and blow deeply, fully expecting my head to be lopped off by the guillotine.  After what seems like eternity I raise my head to meet Maestro’s stern gaze.  He is smiling, but with a somewhat bemused expression on his face.  When the audience stops applauding he nods to me and speaks:  “That was a very…[he pauses]…interesting interpretation.  Tell me something, why do you play the viol?”  I don’t even blink.  “To tell the story, Maestro!” (of course, I mean the story of Life and Death, Love and Hate, Revenge and Jealousy, Heroes and Monsters).   “Do you speak French?”  “Well I bought a French computer program, but it’s not much fun.”  “And have you ever actually studied the gamba with a teacher?”  “Maestro, Mohammed has gone to the mountain many times, perhaps for not as long as I wished…”.  “So maybe you had no very good teachers?”

 

My eyes flash.  “Maestro! I have studied with very fine teachers! They are not to blame!”  Maestro is nonplussed. Later I will be told that I have achieved the impossible — rendered Jordi Savall speechless!  “Well, we did not enjoy it.” (There are murmurs in the audience but I ignore them.  I am ready to accept my punishment.). We begin the basic exercises.  I am one with my bow as I place it on the string.  Now try to produce a clean sound1.”  I draw my blow cleanly across the strong with an enflé (a swelling of the tone). Perfection!   “Now try it with more tension.”  I move my bow closer to the string and hold the hair on the string as I bow.  I am good at this!

 

“Well perhaps your bow stroke is not the problem.”  He strokes his beard.  “There was once a man who was being chased by a ferocious tiger — he was running and running, until finally be came to a precipice.  He looked over the edge of the cliff and what did he see?  Another tiger at the bottom! The man looked down at his feet and what did he see?  A beautiful strawberry plant with luscious fruit!  He bent down to plug the strawberry, and put it in his mouth.  It was the sweetest and most succulent strawberry he had ever tasted.  And you, my friend, you have found your strawberry!”

 

The crowd roars.  “So if I could suggest some things to you, I would say to practice in front of the mirror.”  Our eyes lock.  I saw in a very low voice, “Maestro, I practice every day in front of the mirror!”  He strokes his beard.  “In that case, I suggest you do not practice in front of the mirror!”  The crowd goes crazy!  I offer my hand to Maestro, we are both smiling and laughing.  As I turn to put my gamba in the case he reaches out to pat me on the shoulder.  I feel a bond of some kind.  I have been touched by a Great Artist.  Later as I leave the Library, I have a sudden urge for a strawberry.