TRAVELOGUE: PROJECT VIII
Three Violinists in Mexico
Delicate clover peeked out from between the stones of the elegantly laid
path on which we walked. On either side, unobtrusive buildings grew out
of the lawn, and occasional small staircases led to exquisite gardens
and sparkling fountains. We rounded the mansion, formerly the home of a
Mexican president and now the Pátzcuaro branch of CREFAL, the large
non-profit that provides adult education in Latin America. Hardly
believing our eyes, we descended the magnificent stone staircase in
front of the aged brick house, our view of distant blue-grey mountains
gradually obscured by exotic foliage. The restaurant next door, El
Tarasco, offered a delicious breakfast menu that mixed Mexican and
indigenous food, such as molletes, or bread baked with cheese and beans,
and the soothing atole de pinole, a rich, creamy drink made from corn.
This, then, was Mexico: not the clichéd theme park of beach parties,
sombreros, and tacos we gringos think we know from restaurants and
spring break, but a land of staggering beauty and living history.
Yesterday I arrived in Mexico City after teaching at the music festival
in Las Vegas, so I first saw my fellow participants in Cultures in Harmony's Project
VIII at the airport: Karl Pestka, an electric violinist and composer I
knew from Meadowmount, and Clara Lyon, a violinist from Juilliard. They
are both quite affable, and we were all excited to begin the long
journey to Pátzcuaro: first, by car service (provided by CENART) to the
bus station; then, by luxury bus to Morelia, the capital of the state of
Michoacán; finally, after a restaurant dinner at which our table enjoyed
the persistent attentions of a three-year-old convinced he was
Spiderman, we rode to Pátzcuaro with Carlos Lopez Charles, an employee
of CMMAS. Cultures in Harmony is extraordinarily lucky to enjoy such wonderful
collaborators in CENART and CMMAS. Though Cultures in Harmony covered the plane
flights, CENART and CMMAS have arranged everything else, and over the
next few days, Carlos would become a great friend.
The theme for our work in Pátzcuaro was "Comentarios," or
"Commentaries," the idea being that music can be a "commentary" on other
music, on culture, politics, and our lives. This morning, we held the
first of a pair of three-hour workshops with a group of about thirty
rambunctious young boys from a nearby Casa Hogar, a home for children
whose families either do not have room for them or cannot afford to
provide for them.
We began by introducing ourselves and our instruments, as well as the
percussion instruments and recorders that CMMAS had thoughtfully
provided. Karl and I spoke to them in Spanish, and Carlos translated for
Clara. The boys' zeal and enthusiasm seemed limitless: every time we
asked for a volunteer, nearly all of them threw themselves out of their
seats, hands high in the air, screaming for our attention and the chance
to shine. Many of the fellows who were so vocal about volunteering
suddenly became tongue-tied and shy when they actually had to stand up
and do something in front of their peers, but this improved over the
course of our two days with them. After a series of group rhythm,
improvisation, and imitation games, we introduced them to the
correlation between music and visual elements (scores in graphic and
traditional notation), though mainly, they seemed interested in making
noise.
Over lunch, we discussed with Carlos the issue of Mexicans immigrating
illegally to the U.S. In Mexico, laborers are often lucky to get $5 a
day, and in the U.S., even when they are paid much less than minimum
wage, they make much more than that. Furthermore, the process of legal
immigration to the U.S. takes years and is extremely expensive.
Later in the afternoon, we conducted a workshop with a group of "adultos
de la tercera edad," or "adults of the third age," the term used here
for senior citizens. The group, mostly women, is a local club called
"Nuestros Años Felices," or "Our Happy Years." They carry themselves
with dignity and warmth, and were happy to listen to us play and sing
old songs for us. I noticed that as they sang one particularly
sentimental song, one woman slowly removed a handkerchief from her purse
and dabbed at her eyes. Did the song remind her of a lost love? Did it
remind her of the enormous changes that Mexico and the world in general
have experienced since she first heard it, perhaps half a century ago?
After hearing their group songs and selecting one for performance at
tomorrow evening's concert, we initiated a discussion about the role of
music in their lives, the importance of culture in government and
society, and how to improve international relations in general and
Mexican-American relations in particular. They happily answered even our
most probing questions, and the three of us learned much from their
accumulated wisdom and experience.
Much of the discussion produced the sort of basic truths that we say out
loud all too seldom: at bottom, we are all the same. Music is the
universal language. Government does not do enough to support culture.
Though I was sorry to learn that they feel the Mexican government could
do much more to support culture, I was pleased that people here at least
ask their candidates to do more. In the U.S., the electorate has not
even begun making culture-related demands.
After an invigorating series of rhythm and instrument games at this
morning's workshop for the young boys, we asked them to name a song they
could all sing. In keeping with the theme of "Comentarios," we wanted
them to perform a composition on tonight's concert that would be a
"commentary" on their lives. Therefore, we wanted to take a song they
all knew and fragment it, interspersing its sections with short sections
of the children's own creation.
As usual, they had no problem volunteering the names of songs. However,
the simply refused to sing any of them. After nearly twenty minutes of
stonewalling and the gradual realization that I was losing a battle of
the wills, Carlos came to my rescue by standing up and leading a
children's song about elephants that he knew they would know. Since the
song had clear sections—each verse adds an elephant to the lyrics—it was perfect.
We decided to let the children create three sections, and guided them by
asking them to choose an emotion. The sequence they chose was
happy-sad-angry. For each s
ection, we asked for a story, and so the
first section drew its inspiration from a boy who received a toy car as
a present, the second section was based on a boy who hit a stone in an
alley and got a scar on his knee, and an incident where a group of
children would not stop pulling at one of the boys suggested the third
section.
We finished running through the entire composition just a couple minutes
after their scheduled departure. Hoping for the best for our evening
concert, we went off to lunch and strolled down to Lake Pátzcuaro,
watching three mariachis playing on the pier as Mexican tourists bought
toys for their children and women in bandanas fried tiny whole fish. The
bassist had a coiled spring in place of an endpin, no bow, and
multi-colored strings. The three men had the sort of faces that seem to
be carved from wood.
The audience at our evening concert mostly consisted of the children and
the senior citizens, plus a few folks from Pátzcuaro who responded to
the extensive advertising CREFAL did. I enjoyed watching the children
sit spellbound as Clara gave an extraordinarily sensitive performance of
some Bach, and during my own performance of the modern and highly
dissonant Halffter sonata, I got a kick out of their giggles and gasps
at all the strange sounds.
The children came together marvelously for the performance of their
composition. If nothing else, these workshops taught them that restraint
and order can be just as fun as the all-out chaos young boys typically
prefer. We closed the concert with a sentimental rendition of "Hay Unos
Ojos," for which the senior citizens gracefully ascended the steps to
the stage. Their music-making made me finally understand Charles Ives'
belief that the best musicians are amateurs: it took me a while to
figure out their rhythm because they choose how long to hold a note
based not on its written length, but on how much that note means to
them.
For our last workshop in Pátzcuaro, we asked the senior citizens to
teach us indigenous forms of dance, which they happily did after we
found a way to play a CD of Purepecha music through the sound system of
CREFAL's auditorium. So many of the sights that followed fill me with a
heavy, bittersweet contentment: Karl dancing gracefully with a woman
four times his age who was having the time of her life. A stout old
woman, dancing alone, twirling her red scarf with a flirtatious vivacity her
granddaughters would have a hard time imitating. A white-whiskered
gentleman gently steering Clara through a dance with a chivalry that is
all but forgotten. The sweat, the smiles, the passing of one culture's
ancient traditions to the youth of another culture.
An hour's drive brought us back to Morelia, the state capital, where a
ravishingly beautiful local celebrity named Dafne interviewed me in
Spanish on state television. I don't think my nerves at being in her
presence and giving my first interview in a language other than English
were too obvious; however, given my oddly selective memory of Spanish
grammar, I must have said something like "We are of the very happy to be
of the being here."
A short walk across the street from our hotel brought us to the Centro
Mexicano para la Musica y las Artes Sonoras, which occupies the second
floor of a 400-year-old stone building that has served as a convent,
jail, school, and more during its turbulent history. We enjoyed a
delicious dinner in the CMMAS cafeteria while gazing out at the
courtyard, church bells peeling in the distance.
When Karl first saw the facilities at CMMAS, his jaw dropped. Even though I don't know anything about electronic music, I could tell that the facilities are spotless and the equipment looked state-of-the-art,
and Karl confirmed that CMMAS must surely be ranked among the finest
electronic music centers in the world. Morelia is lucky to have such a
first-rate place, and lots of credit should be given to director Rodrigo
Sigal for ensuring that the center holds a key place in the cultural
life of the community.
Karl's performance of his electric violin masterpiece, "Devastation
Sandwich," was (pardon the pun) electrifying. The young, hip audience
who packed the room clearly agreed with me: a man in dreadlocks just
behind me nodded his head in time to the music, and at one point a
beautiful young woman in the front row started waving her arms around
blissfully, flashing the peace sign and dancing in her seat.
Afterwards, the three of us joined Carlos and his girlfriend for a walk around the romantic cobblestone streets of Morelia, eventually dining in an intimate restaurant just behind the locally famous Alley of Romance, whose darkness barely disguised a couple in passionate embrace.
Another long bus ride brought us back to Mexico City, where Fabiola
Gutierrez from CENART brought us to the family complex of Adriana
Valdes, an employee from the Ollin Yoliztli cultural center. Though she
herself no longer lives there, her mother, uncle, grandmother, and more
family live in a pair of adjoining houses, surrounded by walls that
serve more to keep love in than keep strangers out. Her mother would be
leaving for a short while, so we would have the house to ourselves.
Adriana made sure that we had everything we needed, and in truth was so
kind and loving to us during our time in Mexico City that we came to
think of her as our Mexican mother.
The evening brought one of the most unusual encounters with musicians
from another genre in my experience with Cultures in Harmony. All we were told is that
we would be meeting with some jarineros. Since I loved my encounters
with oud players in Tunisia, mbira musicians in Zimbabwe, and kubing
virtuosi in Mindanao, I eagerly climbed the perilous, three-story spiral
staircase that apparently led to their rehearsal room on the roof of a
house in one of Mexico City's many beautiful neighborhoods.
As it turned out, the jarineros are players of the jarana, an instrument
a lot like a ukulele except much louder and with more strings. They meet
for weekly lessons in the same tiny rooftop room where their teacher
makes their instruments. The teacher, a young man with a mullet and an easy-going manner, clearly believes that you learn best by
doing. For nearly an hour, the eleven players strummed away at full
volume, playing no more than two chords, right after each other.
Occasionally someone would sing something. Karl, Clara, and I received
instruments to strum along. I gave up eventually and tried improvising
on my violin. Then I stopped and listened, waiting in vain for something
new to happen: a third chord? A pause in the music? A melody? A rhythm?
A new tempo? I asked the teacher if there are other harmonies. He
thought a moment and said, "Basically just these two."
The players were very nice, Karl and Clara had a good time, and I did
enjoy the music more after a few beers. They kindly gave us the
opportunity to play something, so I did a fast movement of Bach and Karl
did one of his compositions. The teacher even told me the fascinating
thousand-year history of jarinero music, coming from India to Iran to
the Arab countries to Spain and then to Mexico, where it mixed with
indigenous influences. Given such a pedigree and their kindness to me, I
fervently hope that I will one day grow to understand and appreciate the
emotions and experiences that something in those two endlessly strummed
chords must express.
Centro Nacional de las Artes realizes the dreams of artists everywhere. Sprawling over 33 acres, the massive center includes
schools, museums, theaters, cinemas, a gorgeous park, even a small
hospital. Organizationally, it oversees the activities of other arts
centers all over Mexico, and locally, it offers all sorts of concerts,
exhibits, attractions, and educational experiences. The architecture
brilliantly invites light into the experiences of the thousands who
attend concerts in one of the performance spaces, or who matriculate at
one of the schools. In turn, stone serves not to intimidate, but to
intimate the solidity of the Mexican government's faith in the
centrality of culture to our lives.
The halls of the Escuela Superior de Música, where our activities would
occur over the next four days, open to the air, and gardens meander
invitingly near the building. The soaring lobby flows effortlessly into
the upper, sun-soaked hallways, and even the practice rooms flood with
natural light. Semi-circular shapes and gentle angles evoke an ancient
indigenous heritage and create a welcoming atmosphere. A short walk from
the large orchestra room takes you outside to the verdant splendor of
the park, whose gently rolling hills block out the hectic pace of the
madding city outside. This is the best building in which to study music
in the world.
My first impression of the Youth Orchestra Program of Mexico City: its
participants are way cooler than I, and older than I thought. Nearly
all had extensive piercing, tattoos, leather, tattoos, and edgy clothing
and haircuts. Plus, they are our age, or a bit younger (mostly in the 17
to 25 range). As they filed into room 222 for our introductory meeting,
I worried a bit. In the U.S., youth who looked like this often do not
enjoy classical music, and typically have attitude to burn. In just a
short while, I would realize how different the culture is here in
Mexico, where it is possible for young people to be hip and trendy while
enjoying classical music, respecting teachers and each other, and being
warm, friendly, interested, and interesting individuals. Hear that,
American young people?
We enjoyed meeting briefly with Ariel Hinojosa, coordinator of the
program, and Hector Zavala from the Secretariat of Culture, before we
introduced ourselves to the large group. I talked about Cultures in Harmony and did a slideshow, Clara talked about her experiences subbing
with the New York Philharmonic, and Karl did an electric violin
demonstration. They listened intently, asked good questions, laughed at
the right places, and were patient with the Spanish that Karl and I
gamely wielded (Ariel translated for Clara, who studied French in
school).
For two hours, the three of us rotated among sectional rehearsals (upper
strings, lower strings, and winds and brass). We found the students
uniformly enthusiastic as we worked hard to prepare Saint-Saens' Danse
Bacchanale and Schubert's Overture to Rosamunde. As Ariel explained to
me, the youth orchestra program involves nearly four hundred students in
ten orchestras, and neither the participants nor their teachers have
received formal training outside of the orchestra. The program is
modeled after Venezuela's famous El Sistema, which has 250,000 children
in over 200 orchestras.
In the afternoon, I had a great time conducting the orchestra, and the
students seemed to enjoy a different approach. That night, Karl and I
wandered through the Coyoacan district with a couple of them, buying the
odd street treat in a market that bustled with activity under the
watchful eye of a cathedral.
We began our morning rehearsal with an hour of stretching and yoga,
which we thought would help alleviate a lot of the physical tension we'd
observed during playing yesterday. Then, sectional and full orchestra
rehearsals prepared us for our final concert, which went swimmingly,
given how little time we had to prepare the music. The three of us began
the afternoon concert with a few selections, and then I took the podium
for the orchestra.
After the last chord of the Bacchanale, the applause persisted long
enough, eventually turning into rhythmic applause, that we had to play
the ending of the Bacchanale again. And then, we had to say goodbye to
the students who had become such good friends over the past couple days.
Ariel and Hector agreed that next time, we will plan something more
extensive.
We traveled early to the Escuela so Karl and Clara could rehearse with
some musicians who will join us for tomorrow's concert. Since my own
rehearsal was not till later, I took the time to enjoy the magnificent
park on the school's doorstep. Since today was the first day of classes,
as well as the first day of work for the school's new director, I did
not expect a big audience for my lecture on the social growth of the
musicians, especially since the lecture was scheduled for the same time
as a reception for the new director. Therefore I was pleasantly
surprised, and grateful to Anival, our contact at the Escuela, when my
room filled with students. The lecture pertained more to the importance
of giving classical music a larger role than just entertainment in the
concert hall, and I shared my experiences with Cultures in Harmony.
Though I am grateful for the attention of those in the audience and for
their questions, I confess that speaking for an hour in Spanish while
Montezuma was waging some pretty fierce revenge in my abdominal region
was not one of my most pleasant experiences.
Afterwards, I rehearsed with Cristobal Juarez, son of the director of
CENART and my pianist for the Brahms Sonata tomorrow night. He is very
eager, friendly, kind, and a joy to work with.
The afternoon master classes for the violin students at the Escuela
proved fun for all concerned, especially Karl, who worked with an
electric string rock group. The high level of intonation my students
displayed amazed and delighted me, since it gave me the opportunity to
work mostly on musical things. Some of them should have given me a class
on intonation! Clearly, this is one of the world's finest music schools.
At tonight's official dinner, we finally met Benjamin Juarez y
Echenique, director of CENART. I had exchanged numerous e-mails with him
planning the project, and had not realized he was director of the
country's largest and most prestigious cultural institution until my
arrival. His humility, decency, and kindness mark him as a great leader
for such a major force in Mexican life, and his hospitality was an
honor, as was the presence of Bertha Echenique, the Cultural Advisor to
the U.S. Embassy.
Given the hectic pace of every other day of the project, we opted to
rest and practice in preparation for our final concert. During Karl's
clinic, I rehearsed with Cristobal and gave an interview to Reforma, one
of the major newspapers here. We were all a bit nervous, given the
publicity for this concert and the fact that the school's new director,
Cuauhtemoc Guzman, is a renowned violinist here and would be there.
Nonetheless, it went quite well, with a mostly student audience packing
room 222. Karl's electric violin opus, "Devastation Sandwich," received
a rapturous reception. Afterwards, all those students whose coolness had
originally intimidated me came up and asked for autographs and pictures,
though we exchanged even more smiles and hugs. Such it always is with
these projects. Mexico was unique in many ways, of course. I was
surprised by the extraordinary level of beauty and sophistication here,
and embarrassed that this was a surprise to me; when will the U.S.
develop a more subtle and accurate way of assessing its southern
neighbor? Yet the common ground between all projects is the reaction
that people frequently have when they realize the common ground between
all people: smiles and hugs, elicited through music.
