Random Thoughts by Daniel Morganstern

A week ago, I saw the movie Midnight in Paris by Woody Allen. The scenario involves the young writer anxious to do really good work instead of what he is doing, which he describes as being a “Hollywood hack”. Every midnight, he is picked up in a 1920’s car by the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, T.S. Elliot, and moved seamlessly into their world. He has wonderful experiences listening to Cole Porter at the piano, playing and singing his famous songs, and seeing Picasso being criticized by Gertrude Stein. He asked Hemingway to read his book, but Hemingway refuses saying, “If it’s good, I’ll hate you because it’s good and if it’s bad, I’ll hate you because you bored me.” He then said, “Gertrude Stein is the person to read your book.” After reading the book, Gertrude Stein says to him, “Every man fears death and questions his place in the universe. The job of the artist is to not despair but to find an antidote to the emptiness of existence.”

Yesterday, in an effort to avoid being bored to death doing physical therapy stretches, I put on Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony. Obviously, I’ve heard this piece, and even played it, many times. But this time, with absolutely no distractions whatsoever, I became absolutely drawn into the world of this great symphony. It seemed that there was almost a laser-like concentration of sound and mind, and I marveled at the unbelievable construction and endless imagination that was revealed to me note after note, bar after bar. It wasn’t the notes or the bars, but the expression of a great soul in the form of musical language. I marveled at the fact that Beethoven was practically deaf when he wrote it. More than that, he was completely deaf when he wrote the late piano sonatas and the late quartets. If anybody found an antidote to the emptiness of existence, Beethoven did, and I considered it, along with many other great works of Beethoven that have entered my soul, a gift of immense value.

In the very recent past, I read some essays by Stephen Hawking. I was so touched by the simplicity and honesty of his words, but like Beethoven, Hawking was handicapped with total paralysis and the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Although I was never able to fathom the intricacies of his descriptions of the universe and imaginary numbers, I did recognize that he became, in spite of his handicaps, the preeminent scientist of our age.

My last but not least hero is Viktor Frankl, who managed to survive the concentration camps of the Nazis with an optimistic view of life; and turned it into a whole school of psychotherapy known as Logo Therapy. All of this is contained in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, which obviously I recommend to anybody.

To me, these are my lights. If possible, I would like to walk towards the light. I have no expectation of actually being a light. I leave that to these great souls that shared their greatness with the rest of us.

The other day, there was a report on the radio about mountain climbers that died trying to summit Mt. Everest, because of lack of oxygen. It’s well-known that if you put somebody by helicopter on the top of a very high mountain, they will probably die quickly from what is called “mountain sickness”, the negative health effect of high altitude, caused by rapid exposure to low amounts of oxygen at high elevation. During the course of my career, I’ve seen analogous situations just as deadly.

In 1972, I was playing Wozzeck at the Lyric Opera of Chicago and was most impressed with the young man playing the celesta. Besides being totally accurate rehearsal after rehearsal, he also seemed to know more about the musical construction about this very difficult opera than anybody I could imagine at his age knowing. Additionally, Bruno Bartoletti, our music director considered him a genius. As I got to know this young man, I found out that as a conductor, he had managed to successfully conduct Alban Berg’s Chamber Concerto. It was his great ambition to become an operatic conductor.

Because of my affection for him personally, and my respect for what appeared to be his great talent, I recommended him to Ferdinand Leitner as a possible assistant conductor in Leitner’s opera house in Zurich, Switzerland. It was both unfortunate, regrettable, and fatal that I stuck my nose in where it did not belong. I believed when he said that he would have no trouble doing the job, that there would be no trouble. What ended up happening was that he was unable to meet the requirements of the job in a foreign country, and Leitner was not in the business of psychotherapy. He came home a destroyed man, and after several years of desultory attempts to reignite his career, he committed suicide. His death will always haunt me.

A similar incident occurred when maestro Bartoletti decided that a member of his violin section was also a genius and Bartoletti took it upon himself to recommend him as concertmaster for a major Opera company in Italy. Although this young man was an excellent violinist, dealing with politics, the Italian language, and professional jealousy put him over the edge, and he also committed suicide.

I am continually distressed by the waste of brilliance, talent, and musical enthusiasm caused by musical “mountain sickness”. Fortunately for me, nobody thought I was talented enough to put me in a position I could not handle.

Another situation that bothered me for years had to do with a younger colleague, who I recommended to be principal cellist of both The Canadian Ballet and The San Francisco Opera. He did get both jobs. When he went to San Francisco, I told him that the only thing that mattered was how good he sounded playing solos. He decided differently and made warm contacts with both one of the major conductors and one of the major donors of the San Francisco Opera, hoping that the political influence will keep him safe in his job. So instead of practicing assiduously, he spent his time hobnobbing with the powers that be. However, the decision to retain him was left in the hands of the conductor, who decided that they could do just as well in San Francisco, so why import somebody from New York? And the opportunity was lost.

In another case, I tried to get one of my students connected with International Music Company. I asked her to meet with the editorial director when she was in New York. This was one thing she failed to do. When I offered her the opportunity to write prefaces to my editions on works by a composer on which she was an expert, she turned me down. Sometimes, “the way to hell is paved with good intentions”.