A self diagnostic

Five Tango Sensations; Astor Piazzolla, bandoneon; Kronos Quartet

All four of the Esmond sisters took piano lessons. I don’t know for how long they took those lessons. I heard my mom say one time that she took them for six weeks. That was enough time to learn how to read music. When she picked up an instrument to play in the band she already had a leg up. And her ability to read notes has been her friend during at least forty years in the alto section in church choir.

So when Mom and Dad moved into the house out on the farm back in the 60’s and saw the old Kimball upright left behind in one of the rooms, it was a no-brainer. The kids were going to get piano lessons. As soon as there were kids. K. was the first piano victim. She must have started when she was in the first or second grade. That was about when I was three years old and I experienced one of my earliest and vivid memories. From my perspective, there was, all of a sudden, an extraordinary amount of activity happening around that noisy machine that we were not allowed to touch. Although, it’s not so much noisy, now, as it is, well, kind’a pretty. Play that one again. That one about the chopsticks. Hey, that was cool. Let me try.

That place where musical inspiration sparked, of which Chopsticks was the flint, transformed over the course of more than forty years into a hub of musical activity, refined by nineteen years of piano lessons and sustained by an ardent thirst for what thrives beyond the musical light. One of my favorite Shakespeare lines comes when Hamlet speaks of his mother’s love for his father: why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on.

Countless pathways, each the embodiment of a new skill, protrude from that hub like spokes until they reach the rim to enter the world. A pianist. A soloist. An accompanist. A combo player. An orchestral player. An organist. A chamber music player. A jazz player. A church musician. A choral director. A trumpet player. All humility intact, it’s a pretty big wheel.

So, at the risk of allowing the reader to suspect I’m experiencing some sort of crisis … and I’m not, by the way … I frequently wonder, What is it exactly that I do?

Astor Piazzolla was born in 1921 in Mar del Plata, Argentina, but lived in New York City as a young boy for a number of years. During that time, he became fluent in English, Spanish, French and Italian and learned how to play the bandoneon, which is a type of accordian. In 1937 he moved back to Argentina at a time where tango music was king, and slaked his musical thirst in every way that he could find. After studying composition with the great Argentine composer Ginastera, he won a composition prize allowing him to study with the legendary French composition teacher Nadia Boulanger, who turned his life around in one day. From his memories:

“When I met her, I showed her my kilos of symphonies and sonatas. She started to read them and suddenly came out with a horrible sentence: “It’s very well written.” And stopped, with a period, round like a soccer ball. After a long while, she said, “Here you are like Stravinsky, like Bartok, like Ravel, but you know what happens? I can’t find Piazzolla in this.” And she began to investigate my private life: what I did, what I did and did not play, if I was single, married, or living with someone, she was like an FBI agent! And I was very ashamed to tell her that I was a tango musician. Finally I said, “I play in a night club.” … And I didn’t want to tell her that I was a bandoneon player, because I thought, “Then she will throw me from the fourth floor.” Finally, I confessed and she asked me to play some bars of a tango of my own. She suddenly opened her eyes, took my hand and told me: “You idiot, that’s Piazzolla!”

The Kronos Quartet specializes in new music and is famous for commissioning new works; over 600 works have been written for them. The chamber group was started in 1973 and it has changed personnel a number of times. The original players have all retired from the group but the vision remains the same.

In 1991, a year before Mr. Piazzolla died, he collaborated with the Kronos Quartet on what turned out to be this exquisite farewell to life. The entire score was penned by Mr. Piazzolla. He had written for the KQ before in 1987 with a piece called “Four, For Tango”. I’ve never run across it. But if it is like this, I’m a sympathetic fan. The contrast between the refined bowings of the string and the lonely reed sound of the bandoneon truly serves up a unique dish. The array of emotions expressed on the sleeve of this uber-talented tango player can only come from the lifetime of one who has transformed a dance craze into an intensely expressive oeuvre that personifies the culture and mores of an entire nation.

Who is the real person? Is it the one who greets the world with the grit, grime and gold of life? Or is it the one perceived by others, censored and protected from those things that Mr. Samuel Clemens would want expressed in a real autobiography? Or is there a third one appraised by a God who can see what thrives beyond any perception capable this side of the metaphysical?

Mr. Piazzolla’s encounter with Mademoiselle Boulanger was insightful in just a few hours and made him see an aspect of himself which he had not properly cross-examined. Oh, that Mlle. Boulanger, or someone, could point out what aspect in my music is me, so that I could proceed to focus on it. From my point of view, all of the spokes are too strong. I present the scenario to God frequently and add both a question mark and an exclamation point. But, I imagine Him responding with, “You idiot, just … play the piano, would you, please? Thank you.”

Credits: To the Kronos Quartet, for perceiving and seeking greatness in others in order to collaborate with the genius of your own artistry. You show us how big the room really is by brightening the candle bit by bit. Thank you.