Symphonies & Scorpions: How do you say “snafu” in Japanese?
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Part 4: JAPAN
Familiar Ground
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You know you’re getting close to Japan when a flight attendant politely announces over the PA: “Ladies and gentlemen, there will be mild turbulence in twenty minutes. Please use the lavatory now.” My excitement starts to rise.
Landing at Narita Airport feels like coming home. I think I’ve been to Japan more than a dozen times, starting with Long Island Youth Orchestra, and then the Boston Symphony and the Abramyan String Quartet. In 1986 I also spent four months as a guest professor at the Musashino Music Academy in Tokyo while on sabbatical leave from the BSO. But because it has been twelve years since my last visit, all I look forward to is seeing old friends and haven’t given a minute of thought to sightseeing. I’ll just play that by ear.
We arrive at 9:00 PM at the stylish, elegant Okura Hotel that the BSO has called home on a number of occasions. Compared to the three Grand Hyatts in China, it seems a little old-fashioned. For me the change is welcome. Each musician finds an origami turtle and crane in his/her room, which symbolizes long life and good fortune. Quaint, but don’t knock it. We can use all the help we can get. And it’s a relief not having to spend a half hour trying to figure out where the bathroom light switch is or what buttons to push to open the blinds. High tech has its place, but so too does simplicity. Light switch: next to the door. On or Off. Can’t be improved upon, and why even try to? That’s my thought for the day as I flip the switch to the Off position for the night.
Thursday, May 8
4:00pm-5:30 REHEARSAL Metropolitan Theatre Concert Hall 7:00pm CONCERT Metropolitan Theatre Concert Hall PROGRAM: Mussorgsky: Night on Bare Mountain Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto Tchaikovsky: Symphony No.5 in E minor, Op.64 CHARLES DUTOIT, conductor JANINE JANSEN, violin
A Village of Twenty Million
Who would have thought that Tokyo, a metropolis of twenty-plus million, would ever feel like a sea of tranquility? Yet, compared to the cities in China we just visited, Tokyo seems almost staid. It doesn’t feel crowded, even in the subways, at least not during rush hour. People are quiet and considerate and avoid bumping into each other. The architecture no longer appears ostentatiously cutting-edge. The air is fresh and breathable.
The Japanese, themselves, might not share my sanguinity, as the low-key vibes are in part the result of their ongoing economic downturn, now well into its second decade. And the country as a whole is using less power after the Fukushima catastrophe and subsequent decommissioning of all the nuclear plants, so the city’s lights are not glowing quite as glaringly as they used to. On the “bright” side, they’re using less energy and are managing, setting a positive example for the entire world.
Unmusical Chairs
For breakfast, I wander to the hotel’s lovely Terrace Restaurant patio garden where I find violist Jonathan Chu, one of the newer BSO musicians who I’ve not yet had the opportunity to meet. What a personable, and I gather, talented guy! Though his presence is undoubtedly a real plus for the orchestra, his situation is an example of the quandary many professional musicians find themselves in these days.
Before coming to Boston, Jon played in the Philadelphia Orchestra, and being a highly intelligent individual who has a knack with numbers, he was on musicians’ orchestra committee throughout the 2011 debacle when the orchestra found itself in bankruptcy court over what was primarily a pension dispute. As the New York Times reported on May 23, 2012,
“After going to bankruptcy court on April 16, 2011, the Philadelphia Orchestra took a number of steps to reduce costs. It negotiated a new contract with the players that cut salaries and the number of musicians. Old rent due the Kimmel [the concert hall where the orchestra performs] was forgiven and the current rate shrunk. The orchestra dissolved a partnership with Peter Nero and the Philly Pops, but agreed to pay that ensemble $1.25 million. The Philadelphia Orchestra resolved a dispute with the musicians’ union pension fund, costing it $1.75 million to withdraw instead of the demanded $35.5 million.”
One unfortunate result of the deal was that some young, gifted, and discouraged players like Jonathan left the orchestra.
His other predicament derives from the very nature of symphony orchestras. A few dozen American cities are lucky enough to have a major symphony orchestra, but no city has more than one. That means if you leave your orchestra but want to remain a full-time orchestral musician, you also have to leave your city. And if you have a spouse who is also a professional musician, which is not all that rare these days, it’s a challenge for both to find employment under the same roof.
That’s because you can only join an orchestra if you win an audition for a specific position. Those positions become vacant only when the persons holding them die, retire, or leave the orchestra for some other reason. The result is that opportunities are few and far between. For example, major symphonies have one or two harp players, and they generally stay for life, since that position is the pinnacle of the profession for that instrument. So, no matter how qualified a harp player you may be, if you’re on the outside looking in you might have to wait for years before a single position even becomes available for audition. And no matter what city it’s in, every other terrific harp player in the world looking for a job will be with you be at that audition.
The upshot is that Jon’s wife, Beth Guterman Chu, recently became the principal violist of the St. Louis Symphony—a fine achievement—so circumstances have forced them into a long distance relationship. There’s been a lot of shuffling back and forth between cities, and to compound things, they also have two kids. At the moment there are viola openings in both orchestras, so hopefully in the near future they’ll be able to play sweet alto clef music together.
(A happy postscript to this story. Shortly after the tour, Jon was hired to be assistant principal viola of the St. Louis Symphony, where he sits next to his beloved.)
How Do You Say Snafu in Japanese?
Typically, there are three staggered bus departure times from the hotel to the concert hall. This is done primarily to enable those musicians with large instruments, like string bass and tuba, who have their instruments shipped directly to the hall, to arrive early and have adequate time to practice before a rehearsal starts. Before leaving the Okura for the Metropolitan Theater in Ikebukuro, I receive a text on WhatsApp sent to all the musicians from Chris Ruigomez, BSO operations manager, informing us that the bus schedule from the hotel to the hall has been changed because the entry of our instruments into Japan from China has been held up. With this delay, it would be pointless for musicians to go to the hall early. Since I’m not taking the bus, anyway—I’ve decided to make an excursion on my own to the Meiji Shrine by subway on the way there—I don’t pay much attention to Chris’s text.
Strolling along the wide gravel avenue from the entrance of the park to the tranquil Meiji Shrine brings back sweet memories of walking the same path with my wife, Cecily, and our kids in 1986 during my sabbatical. Kate was still a toddler and Jake less than a year old when we carried them in backpacks and pushed them in strollers. I can’t say I didn’t get a little choked up visiting the place again.
[image error]Traditional Japanese wedding ceremony at the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo. (I kept my distance out of respect.)
Emerging from Ikebukuro Station, I scope out the concert hall after getting a little turned around. Ikebukuro is one of several major transportation, commercial, and entertainment hubs of central Tokyo, and just finding the correct exit from the massive train station—the size of a small city—is an enterprise in itself. After all the times I had been to Ikebukuro I feel a little shame-faced to discover the hall a block-and-a-half from the station. It turns out the hall is also in the same neighborhood as the Kimi ryokan, or traditional Japanese inn, where I’m going to stay for a few days after the official tour ends.
I still have plenty of time before the rehearsal for a delectable set lunch of grilled mackerel, rice, miso soup, daikon salad, and something curiously served in a sealed Styrofoam container. As soon as I lift the lid, I understand why it had been so painstakingly quarantined. It’s natto, the worst concoction in the history of the world, though many Japanese swear by it. The fermented soybeans have an aroma highly reminiscent of—forgive me—vomit, and the one time I actually tasted the lumpy, gooey abomination that’s even fouler than Vegemite, I almost gagged.
As soon as I recognize it, I slam the container shut. There are legitimate claims that natto is highly nutritious and might help prevent illnesses such as Alzheimer’s Disease. However, if I had to choose between one or the other I’d pick senility, especially if it could help me forget the time I actually ate the stuff. I should mention that the rest of the lunch is excellent, and all for about eight bucks. Who said eating in Tokyo is expensive?
Returning to the hall, I bump into Ruigomez, who has arrived in advance of the musicians. He gives me the blow-by-blow for the delay, which can be distilled into one word: ivory.
Because of the fraction of an ounce of elephant ivory that traditionally, but no longer, is used to make the protective tips of string instrument bows, Japanese customs officials won’t let them into the country, or any of the other instruments that accompany them, ivory or not. This bureaucratic snafu is placing our remaining concerts in jeopardy.
The BSO actually went to great lengths to make sure the ivory issue had been resolved, filling out endless documents to the point they were confident they had found safe haven from the inexhaustible supply of red tape, but apparently some diligent civil servants had an extra roll stashed away. Japanese officials told the BSO that had the musicians brought the instruments into Japan individually everything would have been hunky-dory, but as group cargo it was verboten. The officials were not only empowered by regulation to say no, they were required to do so. I later learned that American regulations are essentially the reverse: the US says it’s OK for instruments to be shipped out as group cargo, but the Japanese say for the instrument to come into the country the owner of the individual instrument must have it in his hands, placing the BSO in a classic Catch 22.
Ah, bureaucracy! That universal brotherhood of intransigence that binds us all. Chris tells me that discussions to resolve the situation are ongoing. I suggest that we should just ditch the string instruments and have a brass band concert. Or leave the offending ivory-clad bows at Customs and play Tchaikovsky Fifth Symphony all pizzicato. I always try to be helpful.
There are still almost two hours before the rehearsal and I have a coffee date with pianist Janos Cegledy, a dear former colleague from the Musashino Academy where I taught. Janos, Hungarian by birth, transplanted for a time to New Zealand, and living in Japan for almost four decades, has a pronounced tri-national accent. Add to that a coffee shop with ridiculously loud ambient noise and his inclination to talk very fast and excitedly, and to tell very long, meandering stories, I only understand about a quarter of what he tells me. But I get the gist and his smile and wit are still infectious, so I gather everything is OK and smile back.
I return to the hall. The instruments have arrived! The story on the street is that the breakthrough came about only after the intervention of our Ambassador to Japan, Caroline Kennedy, who had been called by Mark Volpe. The sendoff we got from her Uncle Ted in 1979 has apparently come full circle, but my inner Woodward wants to delve deeper. To be continued…
Back to Music
Instruments in hand, we promptly get down to brass tacks and begin our rehearsal of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto with our guest artist, the highly gifted and highly attractive Janine Jansen. Surprisingly, there’s an audience of several hundred people. I have no idea what they’re doing here, but mine is not to ask why.
Jansen, wearing tight jeans, stands with her back to the violins, and our view of the Maestro is a bit inhibited because she is quite tall and plays with a lot of verve. As we’re playing, my colleague sitting behind me taps me on the shoulder. I expect to be apprised of a change of bowing or a request for me to move my seat. Instead, the violinist whispers, “I can’t stop looking at her ass.” Before you shout, “male chauvinist pig,” I should inform you it was one of my female colleagues who offered this observation, though most likely the same thought had occurred to many in the orchestra and audience by that time. Nevertheless, how does one respond to that comment in the middle of a rehearsal? What would the appropriate response be, if there is one? I said, “Me, neither. Great Cheek-ovsky.” Not bad on the spur of the moment.
Anatomy aside, I think Jansen’s playing is excellent. A different kind of interpretation from the old masters and she does move about a lot, but she clearly has thought about the details in context of the whole and her technique is enviable. There are some in the orchestra who are turned off by her style, but if I could play that well I’d have no regrets.
At the end of the rehearsal, Dutoit announces that we will not play the repeat in the third movement of the Mozart Prague Symphony at the final concert. In Mozart’s time it was standard fare to repeat all the sections of the music indicated by the composer, but that tradition has become very flexible, and these days the second of two repeats in the longer movements is often disregarded. James Levine is one of the few conductors who plays every repeat, much to the orchestra’s dismay. Until now the repeat in the third movement of the Prague was the only one we had played with Dutoit, eschewing all of them in the first two movements, presumably because the second half of the program, Mahler’s Fifth Symphony, is so long. The reason in this case for omitting the third movement repeat? After the final concert, Dutoit has to dash to Narita to catch a plane to London for a rehearsal the next morning. For those who say that musicians have their heads in the clouds when it comes to their art…well, maybe in a way they do.
Between the rehearsal and concert, I find a great hole-in-the-wall soba/udon place a block away. It’s so tiny that one has to eat standing at a counter. For under five bucks (480 yen) I’m handed a humongous bowl of soba and tempura fish with a to-die-for broth, which I noisily slurp down in traditional Japanese fashion. I repeat, who said eating well in Tokyo was expensive?
Broken Record and Record Broken
Forgive me if I sound like a broken record, but once again the orchestra plays beautifully, unlike a broken record. Jansen performs with polish and pizzazz, and not surprisingly is warmly received. For an encore, she plays the Sarabanda from the Bach D Minor Partita with imagination and expression, which I prefer to the more traditional, gloves-on austerity. [See what Daniel Jacobus had to say about that Sarabanda in Devil’s Trill.] The Tchaikovsky Fifth, our third performance of it on the tour, has come back to life for me. It’s the best so far, possibly because I’m finally fully awake. In any event, it all seems to have had just the right energy; the audience is very enthusiastic, and the applause goes on and on and on, perhaps breaking a world record for longevity. We again play the Brahms First Hungarian Dance as an encore. I try to analyze what makes the melody so universally appealing, and speculate that somehow there’s an undercurrent of danger exuded by the dark minor key and driving syncopated rhythm.
***
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NEWS FLASH: MY FIRST POLITICAL THRILLER, THE BEETHOVEN SEQUENCE, IS SCHEDULED FOR RELEASE ON SEPTEMBER 8! A MENTALLY UNBALANCED MUSIC TEACHER BECOMES PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES! PREPOSTEROUS? STAY TUNED.
