Articles by John Graham
CHOOSING CONTEMPORARY REPERTOIRE
CONCERTOS FOR THE VIOLA: Expanding the Repertoire
Articles
about John Graham
INTERVIEW by David Raymond * ENTANGLED IN THE NEW
John Graham: An Adventurer on Roads Less Traveled
By Laura Gibbs Rooney
Choosing Contemporary Repertoire
AMERICAN STRING TEACHER - Summer 1989 Vol.XXXIX, No.3
I am often asked how I go about choosing
a piece of new or contemporary music. If there are no
recordings of the new work, how am I able to determine
its worth or suitability by looking through the score?
My first response to the question is to discuss the frame
of mind in which we seek new music.
It is a basic concern of all students to master the historical
repertoire for their instrument. Of the works that make
up this collection, some are played more often or less
often and some are valued more, some less, but they all
have come to be central to what we recognized as the
identity of the instrument. As we choose which of these
works we will study and perform, we are choosing from
within a set of givens. Our choice is a matter of whether
the work is appropriate to our degree of musical development
or to our aesthetic concerns.
The choice is not so clear with new music. Often we face
styles of composition that involve unfamiliar concepts.
Before we can choose the work, we might have to decide
if it is music at all. The composer has said that it
is music, but do we agree? Do we recognize it as such
in the ways we recognize music from the repertoire that
we already know?
Composers of the twentieth century have been very experimental
in their conceptualization of music and have thereby
asked us to stretch our understanding of what music can
be. What is the process that allows these experiments
in music to become a part of our repertoire?
Remember, every piece we now take for granted was at
one time brand new. Some few listeners responded to it,
made a case for it, and urged others to consider it.
The process of acceptance may take a shorter or longer
time; it may raise, lower, or totally overlook the worth
of the composer or the style of composition. The process
is, in short, an extremely human one of distributing
the works, hand to hand, among fellow musicians.
First Hearing
In
the engagement with a piece of new music, your frame
of mind should be one of openness to adventure and
risk. You are setting yourself to investigate. The
music you are looking over carries no sanctions about
its worth either as music or as “identity” for
your instrument. You, the player and interpreter, are
making one of the first responses to what a composer
has imagined as music.
This dynamic is for me the most exciting and rewarding
part of an involvement with the new. I recently premiered
a work and the performance had a lot of excitement. Some
time later, I prepared a second performance of the piece
and found, as with all music, that it was easier to play
this time. I rethought what I was trying to do with the
music, giving it a more supple, less tense degree of
excitement. The composer, hearing the dress rehearsal,
was pleased but mentioned that the opening section had
lost a tension that he recalled from the first performance.
“It sounded then more stirred up, more desperate, and this is what I
had in mind”, he remarked. I replied that a part of that “desperation” was
a result of how difficult I had found the notes. He really wanted the desperation,
so, with suppleness, I put it back into the reading. (1)
Your considerations in bringing a new work to life may
not bear immediately on whether the work will make it
into the repertoire. You may speculate on whether this
or that piece will be of interest to you as a violist
or to a specific audience, but I feel that it is wise
to leave speculation as to a composition’s ultimate
place in history to history. Involvement in the new is,
by definition, involvement in the present.
Then, what do you look for in new music, and how do you
choose? How do you decide to spend all the time it will
take to learn a work if you don’t know how you,
or history, will regard the piece once it is sounded?
Making a Choice
First,
consider the composer. Has a particular contemporary
composer who has aroused your interest or emotions
with other music written a viola piece? Have you a
friend or colleague who is a composer - known or unknown?
Might you have the opportunity to discuss his or her
musical concepts - and your repertoire or performance
needs? Is there a composer who is “hot”,
who could lend his/her notability to writing something
for the viola? Music is commissioned for a fee but
it is also written for an interested performer - fee
or no fee - for the sake of friendship or the chance
of a first performance.
Next, consider the program. A performer typically wants
one new piece on a program of standard repertoire.Why
not look for a work that is as far removed from the other
pieces as is possible - one that offers, for example,
electronic accompaniment or additional instruments other
than the piano? The piece might be an experimental work
or the music of a composer from abroad.
Or, you might want to present a program from only the
twentieth century. Can you find five or six works for
the viola that represent some of the paths in composition
that have been followed in this era?
This all implies research. Before you jump at the notion
of how much time that will take or worry about where
all this music might be found, let me say that research
can begin as you listen to the radio, go to concerts,
or talk to colleagues. It may then proceed to libraries,
publishers’s lists and record catalogues. It is
mostly a matter of taking on - musically speaking - this
century, this year, and noticing what’s going on.
When I was in an orchestra in college I played for the
first time the music of Bartok, Bloch, Shostakovitch
and Schoenberg. I was also conscripted, as it were, to
perform the works of student composers. I found that
it was much more engaging to talk to student composers
about how and why they were creating music than to talk
to other instrumentalists about how famous performers
recreated music.
At this time, I moved from the violin to the viola. The
slow realization that there was not a large body of eighteenth
or nineteenth century literature for the solo viola was
offset, in my adventuresome mind, by the fact that there
was a twentieth century repertoire.
My interest in new music thus developed simultaneously
with my development as a violist. This is not to say
that there was no pre-twentieth century viola music in
my repertoire or that I was not interested in the proceeding
eras. My point is that I came to feel, as a solo violist,
that the identity of the instrument, the true breadth
of its possibilities as a solo voice, had really been
defined in this century.
Studying the Choice
Hear
a recording. If there is a recording of the work, you
may easily listen a few times to get an impression of
whether it fits your program plans or your technical
level. Beware, however. If the work is in a style unfamiliar
to you, give it several hearings, and not all in the
same hour. Come back to it over a period of time; listen
to other works of the same composer or in the same style.
Also, if it is a first recording of the piece, try to
determine if you could do it better. How do you know
how long the performer lived with the work before recording
it? You may be hearing the first raw attempts at understanding
a piece.
Find manageable bits. If there is no recording and you
face only the score, you probably won’t be able
to “hear” all of the lines. The ability to
hear a score is a variable as other abilities are, but
it is safe to say that most musicians are not able to
hear all of the lines, or even one line of music, at
anything close to tempo. So you begin by breaking it
down into manageable bits. Sound out lines and harmonies;
play or tap rhythmic patterns. Don’t be alarmed
at hearing something that you have never heard before
( you are an adventurer, right?). Don’t ask, “Do
I like what I hear?”, but rather, “Am I intrigued,
am I interested by what I hear. Does it make me want
to investigate further?” Often the issue of “liking” the
music must wait until you begin to understand and digest
it. Sometimes it must wait until you have performed it.
Look for affinity. As you investigate, notice which elements
of the piece immediately excite you. Is there a passage
that makes you imagine really playing it? I have chosen
to learn a piece after initially responding only to its
final section, or to the quality of of its rhythmic invention,
or to the fact that, in an entirely new way, the work
is as virtuostic for the viola as a piece by Paganini.
Approach tempo. Having found some bits of interest, learn
a page or a section and get a feel for what it is like
as you approach the designated tempo. If the piece has
piano accompaniment, go through this sounding process
with a pianist.
Learning the Choice
Now
take a section and break it down. Play what is there,
not what you wish were there. If the work is atonal,
don’t suffer from the lack of tonality. If it
is rhythmic, don’t pine for a steady pulsating
beat. Try to determine what the elements are doing.
Is the harmony progressive or static? Does the top
line actually describe a phrase, or is it disjunct,
part of a texture of sound or a free-floating filament
of sound?
Once you start to get it “into the fingers” what
does the music make you feel? In some music it is easy
to imagine actual feelings, little scenes, whether the
composer intended such or not. Other music might suggest
states of mind, physical senses of motion or stasis,
aural sensations of diffusion or tension. Use these images
- not literally, not in the sense of fixing them forall
time - but in an unfettered way, as fleeting essences
of experience. From your readings, slowly a sense, an
understanding, and a liking of the music will emerge.
Of course the easiest way to jump into learning a new
piece is to have to learn it because you said you would.
Whether you have chosen the piece or not, you have made
a commitment to learn it. This is an important part of
becoming a professional musician, and the skills it requires
cannot be overestimated. To learn this discipline along
with the music of your own era seems to me a very profitable
use of energy.
By learning a brand-new piece by a composer who is alive
and available for consultation - with whom you might
even participate in fashioning a first performance -
you also learn something about music written by master
composers of the past. Learning music is an act of responding
to the music itself, not to the traditions that have
been built upon previous responses.
1. Note that when a composer initially hears his/her
music, the opportunity is given for the the composer
to revise, or even rethink the work. Legend about music
pouring itself onto the page in its final form does not
coincide with fact. Composers relish the chance to actually
hear what, prior to a sounding, has existed only in their
heads.
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CONCERTOS FOR THE VIOLA: Expanding the Repertoire
STRINGS MAGAZINE - May/June 1990
It
is a goal of most violists to learn and perform the
concertos of Telemann, Stamitz, Walton, Hindemith (Der
Schwanendreher) , Bartok, the Sinfonia Concertante
of Mozart, Berlioz’ Harold
in Italy, and, possibly, the Grand Sonata of Paganini.
A goodly number of works, enough to keep us busy in those
four to eight years of advanced training; certainly enough
to keep the repertoire lists for the juries of music
schools and solo competitions tidy and predictable.
But is it enough repertoire to instruct young violists
in musical developments since 1950? Is it enough repertoire
to allow a solo vioist the expansiveness of identity
that is an historic legacy enjoyed by pianists, violinists
and cellists? Is it enough repertoire to establish that
the viola is capable of holding its own in the ultimate
soloistic medium?
The clear answer is no, and for this reason many violists
today have commissioned and performed concertos of present-day
composers. Thanks to their efforts, the repertoire has
been expanded to include many significant new viola concertos.
The Viola Concerto of Jacob Druckman is an outstanding
example of such a piece. It was commissioned by the New
York Philharmonic and premiered by the late Sol Greitzer,
with James Levine conducting. I performed the European
premiere with Arthur Weisberg conducting the Berlin Radio
Orchestra, and have since performed it with Gunther Schuller
and the Dutch Radio Orchestra in the Concertgebouw, and
with the composer at the Aspen Music Festival.
It is a one-movement work of 20 minutes duration. Druckman’s
concerns about balancing the viola with a full symphony
orchestra gave rise to a conceptual “scenario” of
a series of episodes wherein music played by the viola
is picked up and reflected upon by the orchestra.The
ensuing dialogue is different in each section, as various
instruments or groups of instruments react to the viola’s
music. However, each episode, except for the final one,
ends with the accumulated sound of the orchestra engulfing
that of the viola.Put in pictorial terms, the dreaming
viola awakens and arouses the orchestra into a series
of frenzies, and is not at all abashed at being overwhelmed,
but stubbornly waits for the orchestral spasm to subside
in order to dream into the next episode. The concerto
closes as the orchestra makes one last crescendo in unison
to a final fortissimo chord that catapults the viola
into its final solo, a very liberated fling.
The concerto opens with the viola playing alone. Then
the hesitant, fragmented gestures of the viola are reflected
in the orchestra. The pitches of these gestures are sounded,
tremulous and undulating, in the orchestra, while they
begin to coalesce into short phrases in the viola part.
A section of the second episode, shown in example 1,
displays the elan of one of the more rapid vituostic
passages of this amazing concerto.
The fifth episode begins with a recall of the music of
the opening, and then breaks into a full-blown lyric
statement of those fragments that covers the entire range
of the viola fingerboard. (See musical example 2)
This is one work in an impressive array of pieces for
the solo viola and diverse ensembles written since 1950,
as the accompanying list confirms. All of these works
offer orchestras and their audiences fascinating and
exciting music to play and hear, as they offer violists
challenges to the fingers, the ear and the imagination.
Their entry into the repertoire has begun. Through the
constant efforts of violists to study them, and schools
of music and solo competitions to include them in their
juries, many of these works are sure to find their way
to repeated performances with orchestras and to the status
of standards in the repertoire.
The 20th century and the viola have indeed been good
for one another.
Viola Concertos, from 1950 to the present
(Orchestration is for full orchestra unless otherwise
noted)
Luciano Berio: Chemins lll , 1968 (Universal)
Tadeusz Baird: Concerto Lugubre, 1975 (Polskie Wydawnictwo
Muzyczne, Krakow/C.F. Peters)
William Bergsma: Variations and a Fantasy, 1977 (Galaxy
Press)
Herbert Blendinger: Concerto, 1981 (Orlando-Munich)
Norman Dello Joio: Lyric Fantasies, 1974; string orchestra
(Associated Music Publishers)
Jacob Druckman:Concerto , 1978 (Boosey and Hawkes)
Morton Feldman: The Viola in my Life, 1970, version for
flute, percussion, piano, violin and cello; 1971, version
for full orchestra (Universal)
John Harbison: Concerto, 1990 (Associated Music Publishers)
Maurice Gardner: Rhapsody, 1979 (Staff Music-NYC)
Karel Husa: Poem ,1959; strings, oboe, horn and piano
(Schott)
Frank Martin: Ballade ,1973; winds, harp, harpsichord,
percussion (Universal)
Bohuslav Martinu: Rhapsody Concerto , 1952; small orchestra
(Barenreiter)
Krzysztof Penderecki: Concerto , 1983 (Schott)
Walter Piston: Concerto , 1957 (Associated Music Publishers)
Wolfgang Rihm: Concerto , 1983 (Universal)
Alfred Schnittke: Concerto , 1985 (Sikorski)
Robert Starer: Concerto , 1958; strings and percussion
(Leeds/Presser)
Toru Takemitsu: A String Around Autumn, 1989 (Schott-Japan)
Bernd Alois Zimmermann: Antiphonen ,1961: small orchestra
(Edition Modern-Munich)
Joji Yuasa: Concerto , 1990 (Schott-Japan)
Back to top of page
Entangled in the New
City Newspaper (Rochester, NY) Jan.13, 1999
by David Raymond
Violist
John Graham is at home just about anywhere: a studio
at the Eastman School of Music, where he has taught
since 1989; fabled musical venues from New York’s
Carnegie Hall to Rochester’s Kilbourn Hall; and
even the Visual Studies Workshop, where he’ll give
a recital of 20th-century music this Saturday night,
surrounded by an exhibit of contemporary photography.
For Graham, who has played and recorded with such renowned
ensembles as the Juilliard Quartet and Speculum Musicae,
performing in an unusual place is nothing unusual. Nor
does he find it odd to be performing a program of mostly
new music there: his recordings include a three cassette
set of music called 20th Century Viola.
“”Obviously, Visual Studies Workshop is not set up as a performing
space,” says Graham. “But it's a very intimate setting, and I think
hearing up close, being more aware of the physicality of making music, adds
to its appeal for the audience”.
The current Visual Studies exhibit, by a group of artists
called Buffalo 6, is a powerful, unsettling combination
of medically inspired imagery and state-of-the-art photography.
Graham’s concert has nothing to do with the subject
of the exhibit, but to him that’s not the point
of performing there anyway. “Music is special in
that it transcends its own space,” he says. “If
the performance is good it doesn’t matter where
you are. But playing music in a place like Visual Studies
reflects my idea that all kinds of new art are complementary.
The more we combine them, the more we combine their ability
to interact with one another. The eyes and the ears of
the audience can be provoked in the widest sense of the
word. As a student in San Francisco and then a freelance
violist in New York, Graham recalls “a large variety
of alternate spaces for performing”: museums, art
galleries, even restaurants. “Now, Carnegie Hall
is a beautiful place to play, a wonderful experience
for any musician. But there’s a strong convention
that the concert hall defines the musician, and I think
music should happen in more kinds of places. Instead
of people going to a particular kind of place to hear
or play music, why shouldn’t they say, ‘We
want to hear or play music in this particular space,’ and
go from there.”
Graham quickly got used to the idea that not every performing
space had to be Carnegie Hall, and not every concert
program had to consist of the Three B’s. At Eastman,
where he chaired the string department for several years,
Graham has guided tradition-minded students cautiously
into these uncharted waters. “My main responsibility
is to show them how to handle the canon, to be sure that
they are well-grounded in the standard repertory.” That
phrase has a slightly different meaning for violist.
Such instruments as the piano and violin have what Graham
calls “a rich trove” of solo and ensemble
music; his own instrument didn’t really come into
its own until the first part of this century, so, much
more of the viola’s “standard repertory” is
only a few decades old.
“My own entry into music written in my time was as a student, with student
composers of my own age,”says Graham. “I
still recommend to my students that they get together
with their colleagues who are composers. And in the last
few years, I think students at Eastman have become more
open and more interested in new music and new ways of
presenting music.”
Graham’s program for this Saturday night is an
intriguingly mixed bag, including a premiere of Entanglements
, by Eastman’s Robert Morris. Graham recalls that
after working on the piece for a few weeks, “Bob
asked me to help him find a title, based on my experience
of playing the piece.” The 10-minute piece calls
for viola solo and synthesized sounds (devised by Morris
and programmed on a CD), and the violist loved the sounds
that surrounded him. “The piece has the feel of
those photographs you see of gas clouds in outer space:
vivid and active, but benign and totally beautiful. I
told Bob I felt like the viola was being pulled in and
exploded out of the music, and I had this feeling of
being enmeshed in the sounds, entangled - and we both
shouted Entanglements !”
Besides Entanglements , the concert includes two works
new to Graham’s repertory: Folklore III (1994)
with guitar, by the British composer and guitarist Gilbert
Biberian; and Stanley Charkey’s About Time (1997)
with percussion, that Graham describes as aptly titled, “a
jazzy piece about shifting senses of time.” Older
but equally substantial pleasures will be provided by
two solo viola works: Vincent Persichetti’s Parable
and the Sonata Patorale of Lillian Fuchs, the “first
lady of the viola” in the 30’s and 40’s,
according to Graham, and “a piece both elegant
and gutsy at the same time, like her”. The golden
oldie comes at the end: Falla’s Popular Spanish
Songs (1922) arranges for viola and guitar.
“We need to adjust the contemporary music index,” says Graham. “In
music we always define the 20th century as facing the 18th and 19th centuries,
but now I think we need to figure out how to refer to 20th century music. With
the millennium, we can’t really go on thinking of it as new. We should
probably just let that adjective “classical” go, too. We’ve
broken down a lot of the old categories in the last few
decades, but our nonemclature is behind the curve.”
In fact Graham is downright reluctant to refer to this
weekend’s concert as a “new music” event: “Better
to call it ‘a concert of music that was recently
written for viola’, if you have to call it anything.
“These works are all quite different,” he continues, “but
what you will hear in all of them is the sense that their composers are playing
with the elements of music, as artists play with the elements of space: playing
with concepts of rhythm, tonality, color, time.”
Back
to top of page
John Graham: An Adventurer on Roads Less Traveled
By Laura Gibbs Rooney
Reprinted with permission from American String Teacher
Volume 55, Number 1, February 2005.
“Some people will drive by a side road all their
life and never go down it. Other people will always look,
and say ‘I wonder what’s at the end of that
road?’ They’ll go down the road and…I’m
just one of those people who will always go down the
side road; I want to know what’s there!”
Violist
John Graham is an adventurer. His career, spanning
more than 40 years of performing and teaching in the
United States, Europe, and Asia, identifies an artist
who has made a habit of following his instincts, and
trusting in them. “I found the whole thing magical,” says
Graham, relating a childhood memory of hearing the NBC
Symphony. “We had an old Philco radio, they were
very big standing models, and I can remember very definitely
the patterns on the fabric that covered the speaker.
And I would just look into this fabric, and all this
music would come out.” His family claimed that
he was also transfixed by Phil Spitalni and his all-girl
orchestra, featuring Evelyn and her Magic Violin. Whatever
the orchestra, Graham heard magic and soon took matters
into his own hands by asking for the half-size violin
that his grandfather was saving for the first interested
grandchild of the family. A teacher was found as well,
and very soon Graham mastered “Down By The Sea.” By
his early teens he knew he wanted to become a professional
musician, and his teacher, Harriet McNeil, helped him
to prepare for his first recital. It was a great success,
and the dye was cast.
In
the fall of 1954, he enrolled at the San Francisco
Conservatory and studied with members of the Griller
Quartet. In residence at the University of California,
Berkeley (UC-Berkeley), and teachers at the conservatory,
the British-born Griller Quartet was one of the first
quartets-in-residence at a United States college. Graham
studied violin with Jack O’Brien and received
chamber music coaching from violist Philip Burton;
the rapport among the three of them was strong.
Noticing
Graham’s interest in the viola (he was
always picking up people’s instruments during rehearsal
breaks) and hearing his flair for producing a characteristic
viola sound, Burton and O’Brien began a quiet campaign
to turn him to the instrument. Like many violinists,
Graham thought the viola was fascinating, but was unsure
about becoming a violist, as if there was a hidden implication
that a violist was somehow a lesser violinist. However,
he was entranced by the newness of the experience, and
after playing on Burton’s Amati, he became hooked.
Philip Burton became his viola teacher, and his Amati
is the instrument Graham plays today.
Graham
also attended the Aspen Music Festivals during the
summers of 1958 and 1959, and, exhilarated by the level
of musical competence he found among his peers, rose
to the occasion. He became principal violist in the
Student Orchestra and studied with William Primrose
and the Julliard Quartet. He also decided that he wanted
to go to New York City one day to become a professional
freelance violist. Even though his teachers, sensing
Graham’s kind nature and high level of intellect,
warned him about the fierce competition of the New York
music scene, Graham’s experiences in Aspen made
him want to be anything but careful in his musical career
choices. Once again, the dye was cast.
Graham
transferred to the UC Berkeley in 1958, and upon graduation
in 1960, he was immediately called to the draft—as he had previously been deferred—and
ended up in the Seventh Army Symphony in Europe. After
his discharge from the army, he received a scholarship
from the University of California and went to Rome, where
he spent a year studying with violist Renzo Sabatini.
When Graham returned to the States, it was to New York.
Through contacts made at Aspen, he began to freelance,
first with the Young Audiences concert series and then,
as word got around through colleagues, with bigger jobs,
including a chamber orchestra series at the Metropolitan
Museum of Art. As well, he was invited to audition for
Leopold Stokowski and the American Symphony Orchestra. “In
most cases that’s something students really need
to know,” Graham says. “It all begins with
your contemporaries recommending you; they are a really
important stepping stone into the profession.” Stokowski
hired him, and soon he was promoted to principal viola;
he stayed with the orchestra for four years.
Adventure
is not found without taking some chances. On first
arriving in New York, Graham had two goals in mind:
to be in a string quartet, and to do solo work. “Imagining
who and what you want to become can, in itself, be a
risky enterprise,” says Graham, “especially
if you are the only person doing the imagining.” Within
two years of living there, he decided it was time to
give his solo debut. He hired a manager to arrange an
engagement in the Carnegie Recital Hall and performed,
along with music of Bach and Brahms, works by contemporary
composers Milton Babbitt and Henry Cowell. Both Babbitt
and Cowell attended the recital.
“You know,” says Graham, “I went out
on a limb, and two things happened. A quartet that was
in New York for many years, called the Beaux Arts String
Quartet (it was not connected to the piano trio), was
looking for a violist, and they called me up—one
of them had come to the concert, to check me out. And
so, I began to do the two things I wanted to do. I did
my solo thing, and I get an offer to be in this quartet,
and I subsequently spent five years in that quartet!” The
Beaux Arts String Quartet, with Graham as violist, won
the prestigious Naumberg Competition.
Following
these beginnings, Graham spent 25 years in New York
City, freelancing and performing as soloist, with major
chamber music and new music ensembles, and in orchestras
for opera, ballet, and Broadway. “It
was a privilege,” Graham recalls, “to play
in a great variety of musical venues, to be a musician
in so many different ways.” During his early years
in New York City, Graham met his wife, visual artist
Cinda Kelly. They have a daughter, Caitlin, and currently
live in Rochester, New York, where Graham has been professor
of viola at the Eastman School of Music since 1989.
For
his solo recitals, John Graham regularly performs works
of contemporary composers in addition to more traditional
repertoire. In a recent program, he performed J. S.
Bach’s
D major gamba sonata for viola and harpsichord; a premier
of Christopher Brakel’s Deploration, featuring
electric viola and amplified harpsichord; Two Songs of
John Dowland, paired with Benjamin Britten’s Lachrymae,
Op. 48; and Luciano Berio’s Naturale, based on
Sicilian melodies. Regarding his thought process in making
programming decisions, he says “It’s all
associative. I’m thinking of how I want to move
from piece to piece, and then how I imagine the audience
moving from piece to piece. And I like cross-references,
not so much in an intellectual sense, but in an acoustical
[sense]; acoustical cross-references is a good way to
put it.”
Regularly
performing newly written, current music helps him to
connect to older music with the spontaneity that it
must have been given when it was first played generations
ago. In addition, Graham believes that the viola, having
a smaller traditional repertoire than other instruments,
is in an ideal position to be a soloed voice in the
flow of current music. “Composers can face it more freshly
because there are so few antecedents, and the performers
tend to face the instrument a little more openly. We
are still developing our sense of what our repertoire
is, and so we’re much freer to go about it.”
In
February of 2002, Graham premiered Birches, a piece
based on the Robert Frost poem of the same title, written
for solo viola and electronic sounds by Kevin Ernste,
who was then finishing his doctoral degree. In sharing
his experiences while working with Graham on Birches,
Ernste relates a compositional process that is similar
to Graham’s approach to music. “In the 20th
century,” says Ernste, “you have to sort
of peel away the layers of performance practice to get
at what you want. I was striving [in Birches] toward
having this balance between what information you give
to the player, and what information is left to be communicated.
This allows the player to feel his or her own way into
the piece.”
Besides
a fresh approach to playing technique, Birches asks
that the performer relate to the dynamic of the Frost
poem, that of an old man reflecting upon his own boyhood. “What I realized,” muses Ernste, “is
that John didn’t need to look back, because he’s
not built that way. From the beginning, it was so natural
for him.” Graham has performed Birches many times
since, including at the Aspen Music Festival, where he
is currently a member of the artist-faculty.
Ernste
has been delighted to witness Graham infuse new elements
into the piece with each performance. Graham also appreciates
the opportunity to collaborate with so many fine composers
close at hand: “In recent
years at Eastman, having music written for me by people
who know my playing has been a very interesting experience.
I feel an extra dimension of personalness, because it’s
come out of a natural sense of community.”
In
partnership with his performing, Graham has been active
as a teacher since his days with the Beaux Arts Quartet.
Teaching and performing is a balance that works well
for him. Many performers feel a distinction, even a
division, between the two, but a pivotal experience
in 1983 of teaching a semester in Beijing, China, confirmed
to Graham his identity as a teacher: “It was a
very emotional experience, to have people so hungry for
it. And that experience, of being a teacher on that fundamental
level, turned it for me, and I realized there is no division
here. I’m as much a teacher as I am a performer.
“Ever since I started teaching, it would immediately
funnel back into playing, and then there’s the
whole human issue of having an outlet for verbal articulation.
To be able to talk to someone and transmit your enthusiasms,
to participate in the dynamic of the give-and-take between
you and the student—I have gained this through
teaching.”
In
his teaching, Graham utilizes a natural process of
piecing together how he has been taught—in addition
to Burton, Sabatini, and Primrose, Graham studied with
cellist George Neikrug, and in master class with Pablo
Casals—and keying into the student’s imagination
in a way to facilitate his or her own individual music
making. He does not impose his musical interpretations
on his students. “It’s often as if we both
discover things together, or he makes it seem that way,” says
John Pickford Richards, a former student of Graham’s. “I
think the initial thing he tries to do is make the music
sound natural to the characteristics of the instrument.
But he doesn’t necessarily do it by telling me
how to adjust my fingers or how I’m moving my arms;
first he clues my ear in to what is happening musically
so that the impulses are there, and so that I’m
hearing the connection of the sound. After we understand
where the sound wants to be, and where the rhythmic impulses
need to be, then he starts to talk about how physically
I can do it.”
Graham’s approach to teaching and learning makes
the process come alive for himself as well as his students;
in performing as well as teaching, he lives very much
in the moment, and open to discovery. He is also very
honest about a teacher’s limits. “We all
have to face that basically, in teaching, we are projecting
ourselves, out of our own experience.” He believes
it very important for both teachers and students to understand
that there are many choices to make, and there is no
one teacher who is ideal for every student.
As
a teacher, John Graham is a role model of an artist
who has found success in trusting his instincts. As
a performer, he is a boon to composers interested in
exploring the voice of the viola. He is currently on
the faculty of the Eastman School of Music and the
Aspen Music Festival. Graham’s viola is made
by Brothers Amati, and his bow is by John Dodd.
_________________________________
Laura Rooney currently directs
the orchestra program at Pius XI High School, freelances
as a violist, and teaches in a private viola and violin
studio in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She is “ABD” toward
a Doctor of Musical Arts degree in Music Education from
the Eastman School of Music.
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