I had one of the most interesting experiences last fall, namely, a “master class.” My violin teacher told me the class would really improve my skills, that it would help me have a broader viewpoint about the interpretation of songs, etc., etc. My response to her wonderful idea: “ Yikes! I don’t think I’m good enough.” I was scared stiff! This is what I had heard about master classes:

 

  1. The teacher, or “master” is usually a world renown virtuoso.

  2. You are expected to play your best song, and then let the “master” critique it.

  3. While you play and are being critiqued, there is an audience of violinists watching and listening to everything.

  4. Even worse, your class is being video-taped.

  5. The master plays a portion of your song the way she thinks it should be played, and expects you to copy her playing perfectly.

 

To sum it up, I did NOT want to do this. I was sure that only the most advanced students were good enough to play before this outstanding, superstar violinist and survive the severe “criticism” about every note. However, my teacher insisted. My mom insisted. I finally decided that it wouldn’t kill me, so I’d go through with it. Maybe the benefits my teacher was talking about really were worth it. (And, it looks good on your resume! ;) And, I knew God would help me do my very best. Whatever happened would be according to His perfect, sovereign plan.

 

I arrived at the recital hall, where I would be playing in an hour. I dressed semi-formal, and tried to look as if I knew what I was doing. The guide showed me to a powder room behind the stage where I could practice, and nervously, I got out my violin. I could hear another violinist in a nearby room. “Wow, he sounds great!” I thought. He was playing two notes at a time, fast and furiously as if it was nothing. My piece, “Vivaldi’s Spring Concerto” never played two notes at a time. It was a pretty piece with trills, written to sound like little birds, other times to sound like a gurgling river, other times like lightening, other times like thunder. I loved my piece with all its different personalities, but still I was nervous. The guy next to me was playing a piece that was many times harder. Swallowing hard, I decided at that point to play for the Lord, not for the master. It certainly wasn’t a competition, but still I was nervous.

 

As I took my place in the recital hall, I looked at the other violinists. There were three Oriental girls, and my program informed me of the various famous people they had studied under. Then, there was a college student, the one I heard practicing in the other room. “At least he’s older.” I thought. Maybe when I’m his age, I’ll be able to play his song.” Finally, there was a little twelve-year-old girl. She looked just as nervous as I was. I smiled at her, and really prayed that she would do well.

 

I won’t describe every detail of the master class. I must confess, it being last fall, that I don’t really remember all the details. I do remember that I wasn’t first in the program, the college student was. Then, it was my turn. I took a deep breath, smiled, played Vivaldi’s Spring Concerto (not perfectly, but decently), and then waited as “Master” Jennifer Koh gathered the notes together she had been vigorously writing while I played.

 

Here is a link to Jennifer Koh’s website: http://jenniferkoh.com

She is…”a risk-taking, high-octane player of the kind who grabs the listener by the ears and refuses to let go.” –The Strad

I learned that there was a rule on how to criticize the player. You say, “good job” and then talk about “interpretation” of the piece. She didn’t point out every note I played slightly out-of-tune, she instead discussed the dynamics (loud, soft) and how to use the bow ( vigorous, excited, smooth like butter, clean, hacking, faster bow, etc.) One funny thing she talked about was making up a story to go with my song. I don’t really remember it, but it started out with one bird singing about the coming of spring, then it fades away and another bird picks it up, then the first bird, then another bird, etc. When it came to the thunder, she made me dig into the strings with my bow so hard and vigorous, I thought I would break something!

 

I was very happy to have gone, though, for everyone had learned a lot, even the overwhelmingly amazing Oriental girls. It was hard, and for 20 minutes we had to concentrate really hard and pay extremely close attention to the master who talks fast and then expects you to play again and again until she is satisfied.

 

If any of you ever get a chance to go to a master class, please don’t chicken out! Even if you just come to watch (which many do), you will still learn so much! It is almost like taking a year’s worth of lessons from your regular teacher in 20 minutes! (Which means, that having a friend or relative write down notes for you is extremely invaluable).

 

Hopefully this gave you a glimpse into the world in which violinists live. Thanks for reading!

God bless,

      April