And The Tears Fell

Have you ever been blessed to attend a performance so utterly transcendent you literally wept as you listened? I am not ashamed to say that I have been moved to tears at many wonderful concerts.

There is one that stands out, however. It also speaks volumes as to why Milstein had such an effect on me.

The year was 1982. I had just returned from a 17 day concert tour of Hawaii with the Los Angeles Piano Quartet.

Now, you might think, ‘what could be better than to tour a tropical paradise and get paid for it.’ Right?

Well, plenty, in this case. You see we played 14 concerts in those 17 days along with several ‘outreach’ activities. It was a relentless schedule.

But what really made the experience a nightmare, however, was that I was having a serious compatibility problem with the violist. Let me just say that I have come across few musicians in my career with as much tension underlying their playing as this fellow.

The sad part, really, was that he had no awareness of it.

As a consequence, his music making was characterized by a constant edginess. Often his nervous energy drove his pitch sharp. There was a distinct absence of ‘breath’.

Though gifted with an incredibly strong intellect he kept it focused outwardly. Vulnerability was something to be avoided at all costs.

Now you’re asking, ‘Why’d you let him in the group?’ All I can say to that is, ‘hindsight is 20/20.’ He seemed the best choice at the time.

But I’m getting a little off message here. The point is I returned to LA in a state of nervous exhaustion over the experience.

As it turns out, Milstein was performing in town the night I returned. Of course I had tickets.

My sister and I drove from Santa Monica to Pasadena, about a forty minute drive, with my hardly uttering a word.

Once in my seat I sat in a fog waiting for the master to take the stage. I feared in my innermost being that I would be unreachable. Maybe permanently, I thought.

Fortunately, I was more wrong than I had ever been. As soon as he sounded the first notes of the Respighi ‘Sonata en Re’ tears began flowing down my cheeks. After a few minutes I felt my sister’s glance. The tears just continued right on.

Intermission brought a brief respite from my little rite of purification.

Brief is the operative word. With the first note of Brahm’s D Minor Sonata following intermission the whole thing started afresh.

By the end of the concert I knew it was hopeless to go backstage. I was unable to speak.

The next day I was fully recovered. Life had returned. What enabled that profound catharsis was the genius of Milstein. Transcendent is the best word to describe it. Through the purity of his phrasing and beauty of his tone shone the genius of Stradivarius, Tourte, and the composer he was performing.

It went even deeper. His was an act of devotion, and it enabled me to release and shed all the accumulated tension and anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me.

Such is the power of the true artist.

All the best,

Clayton Haslop

P.S. Eliminating tension and cultivating pure fundamentals is essential to artistic expression on the violin. Kreutzer for Violin Mastery, Vol. 1 gives you powerful tools toward that end. Get your copy now.