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My cello studies began when I was seven years old after my parents surprised me by giving me a cello. My mother died two years later, but my closeness to the cello has always had a profound resonance which strengthens the connection between my mother and me.
When I was fifteen years old, my former teacher Joseph Saunders arranged for me to play for Starker in Bloomington, Indiana, where Starker taught since leaving the Chicago Symphony in 1959.
My father drove us to Bloomington on a cold Saturday in February 1965, and we went directly to Starker’s studio, room 155 in the round School of Music building at Indiana University. After he welcomed us, I played the Prelude and Allemande from the Sixth Cello Suite by Bach and a little of the Lalo Concerto.
Starker then said ’If an angel should come down and tell you that you could be anything you want, what would you say?’ I replied without hesitation ’I would say that I would like to be like you.’ He didn’t seem to mind my answer and invited my father and me to stay for his weekly masterclass.
A few of his students played in the class, and as always, Starker demonstrated to illustrate his comments. He also would talk to the students while he was playing, able to speak with clarity and play impeccably at the same time, a virtual impossibility for most human beings.
When the students finished, Starker looked at me and said ’Play the Prelude for us,’ which was totally unexpected. I realised later that this had been a test to see what would happen under that pressure. The Prelude is a very difficult piece, originally written for viola pomposa, an instrument with five strings, and I played it boldly. When I finished, Starker said ’It’s nice to know that there is good cello playing somewhere besides Bloomington.’ This comment was unusual from someone who almost always confined his remarks to critical observations and suggestions for improving technical issues.
Studying with Starker was astounding in every way. In just a few months, my playing became more relaxed and refined. I tried his patience many times by my inconsistent work ethic, but he always tried to be supportive while insisting on discipline. I had enormous respect for him but was not afraid to ask him to clarify instructions that I didn’t understand. When I did that, he would usually say ’What….I….said…was….,’ and then he would repeat it, slowly and with exaggerated simplicity. Even though he acted a little irritated, I know he was pleased that I was brave enough to ask him to repeat himself. After all, his goal was always to communicate and be understood. Starker became like a second father to me, treating me with firm but loving encouragement.
Starker became like a second father to me, treating me with firm but loving encouragement
At my second lesson, Starker asked me ’Are you left-handed?’ I replied that I was ambidextrous and that I played tennis and batted a baseball right-handed but wrote with my left hand and threw a ball with my left hand. Starker said ’I thought so. Don’t be the victim of the left-handed syndrome.’ So, I asked what that was, and he said ’You are always leading with your left hand and thinking about your left hand.’ Of course, he was absolutely right, and I often thought although most people are right-handed, I found it strange that all string instruments are bowed with the right arm because the demands required of the left hand seemed to far outweigh those of the bow. Clearly, I had no idea what I was doing with the bow, and I have been thinking about my right arm every day for the last 59 years.
After studying with Starker for a year, I played the first movement of Brahms F Major Sonata in a masterclass in Bloomington. Starker was joined by Mihaly Virizlay, a fine cellist and principal cellist of Baltimore Symphony. Virizlay had also been Starker’s first student when he was five and Starker was eight years old. In the months leading up to that summer I had listened to Starker and György Sebők’s recording of that Brahms Sonata dozens of times, and after playing it for the class, Virizlay said very dryly ’It sounded like a caricature of the record’ which elicited some gasps from the students who attended. After a moment, Starker said ’Well, everyone needs a point of departure.’ While it was something of an acknowledgement of Virizlay’s opinion, it also felt like he was defending me on some level, and I appreciated it.
When Piatigorsky was honoured by a special concert in Bloomington in 1967, Starker assigned me Piatigorsky’s own Variations on a Theme by Paganini, a treacherous and wonderful piece. In the weeks before the concert, my preparation was uneven, and Starker became a bit impatient with me, deservedly so. I survived the concert and on the whole, played fairly well. After the performance, I was walking in the hallway near the auditorium, and there was Piatigorsky, towering over Starker. As I passed, Piatigorsky said ’Bravo!’ I looked over at Starker. He gently slapped my face and said ’Idiot!’
On another occasion, I slept late and had to call Starker at 10:10 am to say ’I don’t know what happened. My alarm didn’t go off.’ He was not happy and said ’Well, I was here at 10. It was my first lesson of the day.’ This happened a couple of times. Then I was in a lesson playing the Schumann Concerto. We were going through the second movement, a glorious Andante. After the first long melodic statement, the orchestra plays a few chords leading to the cello entering with a poignant descending line of five notes. Starker said ’These five notes begin with “why?”, so tell me what words you would choose.’ I said right away ’Why am I like that?’ Starker looked at me and said ’That’s funny. I was thinking ”Why aren’t you HERE yet?”’ A great example of his humour as well as compassion toward me in a vulnerable moment.
During that time, it was arranged that I play in two of Starker’s masterclasses at Ravinia during the summer. I had prepared Divertimento by Haydn/Piatigorsky and the Vitali Chaconne in a transcription from the violin piece. As I drove north to Ravinia, I had a vivid feeling that my mother was in the passenger seat, and it was very comforting. I was scheduled to play first in the opening class, and Starker asked what I would play. I explained that I had the Divertimento and the Chaconne and planned to play the Chaconne in the first class.
Starker said ’Play the Haydn.’ I objected and said I was all set to play Chaconne, and Starker said ’What’s the matter? You nervous and want to begin with big, broad strokes?’ Then he turned to my pianist, indicated me and said ’Leave it to this guy to come up with the one piece I don’t play.’ Of course, I played the Haydn. Starker was very kind during the class and said ’It’s good to hear what you can do when you’ve been working. It was real cello playing.’ A few days later I played the Chaconne in another class, and Starker demonstrated parts of it flawlessly.
In 1993 I released my second solo CD, Jubilatum which opened with the Largo and Allegro Vivo from Francoeur’s Sonata in E Major, a piece I came to know at the age of thirteen on Starker’s record Around the World with Janos Starker: Music of France.
The next year in 1994 I was finally able to attend an Eva Janzer gathering. I arrived a day early and was invited to a small dinner party at the home of Tsuyoshi Tsutsumi, Starker’s assistant in the 1960s and my teacher for two years in the early 1970s. I rarely drink alcohol, but I honoured Starker’s affection for Scotch by having some myself when I visited Bloomington. So, after Starker said some nice things about my new CD, I had enough courage to ask ’Did you hear any of yourself in my recording of Francoeur?’ His response: ’Well, it’s in tune.’ A perfect non-sentimental Starker answer and something of a compliment on a few levels.
Here is the Allegro Vivo from my Francoeur recording:
In 2001, Starker played a solo recital at Portland State University, and we played the Boccherini Duo and Popper Suite for two celli. The experience of playing duos with him was unforgettable, and fortunately it was videotaped, which you can see below:
Starker frequently would address everyone after the big dinner during the Eva Janzer gatherings. He would speak to all of us before leaving, getting emotional and expressing his appreciation for his huge ‘cello family’ and reminding us to stay true to ’the cause.’
Hamilton Cheifetz is professor emeritus and Florestan professor of cello at Portland State University and cellist of the Florestan Trio.
Images courtesy Hamilton Cheifetz.
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