Report on the Second Amateur Cliburn
Carl Tait
By Carl Tait
17 June 2000
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
-- T. S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"
For those of us who had once considered careers as classical pianists
before reluctantly deciding on a different path, last year's First
Van Cliburn International Piano Competition for Outstanding Amateurs
(IPCOA) provided a brief but gratifying glimpse into the world we had
pushed to one side. Serious amateurs of all backgrounds were welcome,
but we all cared intensely about music, treating it as far more than
just another hobby like stamp collecting.
The Second IPCOA was originally scheduled for June 2002, but the
thundering success of the inaugural competition led to a decision to
repeat the contest right away, in June 2000. I had gotten as far as
the semifinals in the 1999 event and had returned home in a state of such
euphoria that I had only one worry about the Second IPCOA: could it live
up to the first one? Indeed it could. In virtually every way, the 2000
event was even more satisfying that the first competition, refreshing and
deepening friendships and memories.
My own playing had taken a substantial leap forwards during the previous
year thanks to the remarkable Phillip Kawin, a teacher at the Manhattan
School of Music. I'd started studying with Phillip a few weeks before the
1999 contest; in a matter of months, he had worked a number of major and
minor miracles that had freed up my hands so much I barely felt like the
same pianist. Phillip treated me with the same care as his students who
were budding professionals, occasionally (and endearingly) seeming to
forget that music wasn't my career. He would recommend a lengthy
out-of-town piano festival, then sigh and say, "This would be a great
experience for you, but I do realize you have a job."
SUNDAY, JUNE 4: Arrival and Welcome Party
I arrived in Fort Worth in mid-afternoon and briefly considered stopping
by the hotel, but decided to drive straight to Texas Christian University,
site of the competition. Familiar faces began to pop up right away,
both among fellow competitors and the Cliburn staff. I picked up my
welcome packet and accompanying goodie sack (thoughtfully packed in
a Steinway & Sons tote bag to make us feel like part-time Steinway
artists), then sealed myself in a practice room in Waits Hall.
I left the keyboard gymnastics behind for awhile to attend the
welcome party at the home of some spectacularly wealthy Fort Worth
music fans. The party was a treat, with happy noises of recognition
regularly emerging from the general hum. "I remember you!" ... "Sorry
we didn't have a chance to talk more last year." ... "So what are you
playing in the prelims?" ... "Nice job with that Scriabin last year!"
... "Your face is so familiar, but I can't remember your name." ...
"Loved your write-up on the first competition!" (Okay, that last
comment was directed specifically at me.)
Richard Rodzinski, president of the Cliburn Foundation and an avid
supporter of the amateur competition, was on hand to meet everyone. His
enthusiasm for the event was obvious to all who talked to him. It turns
out, by the way, that Richard's preferred Americanization of his last name
is "ro-JIN-ski"; I can't even approximate the authentic pronunciation, but
it is emphatically not the sloppy "rod-ZIN-ski" heard so often.
I reluctantly returned to Waits Hall to claim my 7 PM practice room.
My fingers felt good; with efficient technique courtesy of Phillip (and
a little help from air conditioning), I didn't even break a sweat during
the three-hour session. Walking out into the sticky night air, I spotted
some kittens at play in the middle of a construction site. The more timid
ones skittered away at my approach, but two kittens remained, locked in a
fiercely playful tussle on a pallet. I wondered if they cared who won
their little contest.
I finally checked into the hotel and called my parents, who had arrived
a few hours earlier. Luckily, my dad was still awake; he has been known
to go to bed around sunset. I filled him in on the day's pleasurable
activities, adding a piece of information I'd just noticed in the program
book: Michael Kimmelman, the New York Times art critic and finalist in
the 1999 amateur competition, was on the jury of this year's contest.
(Should we keep an eye open for a New York Times article on what it was
like to *judge* the Amateur Cliburn?)
MONDAY, JUNE 5: Prelims, Day 1
Uncharacteristically, I woke up early. (Unlike my father, I've
been known to *wake up* around sunset.) I headed straight for the
practice rooms and started plugging away.
Having had to miss last year's contest, my mom was determined to hear
every single performance this time around, even though her failing knees
left her tottering around with great difficulty. My dad heard *almost*
every note of the competition, missing only one or two pianists when he
came by the practice rooms to provide me with an audience of one during
the afternoon break. (I was reminded of all the times he'd come into the
living room to listen to me practice as a teenager. He made a good audience
this time, too; my Schubert has never sounded better.) My Aunt Marty and
Uncle Jack drove up again this year from Abilene: I was delighted they were
interested enough to come back; they were pleased I wanted them there.
Before the evening session, the five of us went out for dinner and
conversation. My mom asked me to guess her favorite pianist from the
afternoon session; without hesitation, I picked Henri-Robert Delbeau.
My mother gasped as if I were working for one of those psychic hotlines.
"That's right! How did you know?"
Easy: Henri had played beautifully in last year's event. I thought
he should have made the finals, but his playing was apparently too
restrained and subtle for the jury's tastes. I hoped that playing
so early in the competition would not hurt his chances this year.
After dinner, we all headed back to Ed Landreth Auditorium. I listened to
the entire evening session and was struck by both the quality and interest
of the performances: the general level of playing was noticeably higher
than last year. Requiring a full hour of repertoire and an audition tape
probably helped boost the level; memories of the many excellent pianists
in last year's event added an extra push for the returning contestants.
At the same time, there were fewer quasi-professional superstars this time
around. The net result was a field of pianists who, by and large, could
be aptly described as "outstanding amateurs."
I ended up listening to far more of the competition this year than last:
just over half of the 75 preliminary-round performances and almost all of
the semifinals and finals. The prelims were especially enjoyable, as I
was able to hear some technically limited but deeply musical pianists who
played with real artistry.
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you
-- e. e. cummings, "since feeling is first"
The respectfully quiet audience was also a pleasure to hear (or rather,
*not* to hear). Increasing the length of the prelim program from 10 to 12
minutes had the unexpected benefit of keeping the competition on schedule.
Many pianists played for 11 minutes or so -- a program they probably would
have tried to shoehorn into a 10-minute time limit -- and finished a
little early rather than a little late.
Several competitors this year had been through terrible experiences that
made their piano playing especially meaningful to them. Arthur Aitkens
had fallen off a horse and was partially paralyzed as a result; another
pianist had been seriously injured while skiing and had to give up on a
concert career. Few of these contestants expected to get past the
preliminaries, but that wasn't the point: their participation in this
contest provided gratifying personal validation and inspiration for
musicians everywhere.
Admittedly, there were a (very) few performances in which neither
technique nor musicianship was in evidence. During one piece in which
a silken pianissimo melody was rendered by the performer in a choppy
mezzo-forte, my mom handed me a note: "Some people need a sad story about
their playing and don't have one." I wrote back, "This contestant was born
without the ability to distinguish legato from staccato."
To avoid writing an article the length of the Manhattan telephone directory,
I'll try to focus on a few pianists and pieces I found especially striking.
To any competitor not mentioned in these notes: please do not interpret
your absence as equivalent to "That pianist stunk."
As for specific, commendable performances on Monday evening:
Melinda Baird led off with a warm Chopin Barcarolle, full of fine tone;
an eyebrow-raising thumb voicing in the A major section was especially
well done. Robert Finley gave polished, refined performances of Faure,
Grieg, and Liszt; Greg Fisher showed high poetry in his Aeolian Harp
Etude and in his coruscating reading of Debussy's "Feux d'artifice."
For me, the biggest surprise of the evening was Michael Moore's
rendition of the Copland Variations, a piece I've always hated.
A recent performance by a well-known professional quite literally gave
me a headache. Michael, however, managed to find the music in between
all the sharp edges: he played with color, passion, and integrity --
and without the usual painful banging. It was the first time I'd
ever managed to enjoy the piece, or at least not to despise it.
The performance received tepid applause reminiscent of Susan Alexander Kane's
operatic debut in "Citizen Kane"; I clapped especially loudly to show that
someone had heard the first-rate pianist behind the uncompromising music.
I beg you, my friendly critics,
Do not set about to procure me an audience.
I mate with my free kind upon the crags;
the hidden recesses
Have heard the echo of my heels,
in the cool light,
in the darkness.
-- Ezra Pound, "Tenzone"
Paul Doerrfeld, the only returning 1999 finalist, started well with an
exciting Rachmaninoff C major Prelude. Next came a piece that Paul and
I had discussed by e-mail: Chopin's terrifying chromatic etude, Op. 10,
No. 2. (I probably shouldn't have called it an "Etude of Doom.") Every
pianist in the audience drew a deep breath as the piece began: the first
page went well, and it looked like the tightrope act was going to work.
Then disaster struck: near-derailment on the second page, followed by
partial recovery, but then the middle section attacked and ... ouch. It
was like watching the Flying Wallendas fall off a high wire: knowing that
an impossibly difficult stunt has been performed many times with total
success doesn't make the sound of crunching bodies any less distressing
when things go awry.
I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday
-- John Donne, First Holy Sonnet
To his great credit, Paul immediately pushed the etude out of his mind
and finished his preliminary round with a brilliant performance of
Dello Joio's Capriccio on the Interval of a Second. It was one of the
best performances of the day, and I was hopeful that the jury could
just pretend that the one-minute etude had never been programmed.
Unfortunately, competition for slots in the semis was sufficiently tough
that any significant mishap made advancement unlikely.
(When we discussed the Dello Joio later on, Paul remarked that he was
unlikely to play the piece again because the practice sessions had nearly
driven his wife insane. I suggested that he switch to Boulez Sonatas for
awhile; his wife would soon be begging for the return of Dello Joio.)
Chui-fun Poon, a petite woman from Hong Kong now living in Fort Worth (and
working for the Cliburn Piano Institute), gave a powerful reading of the
Bach/Busoni Toccata and Fugue in D minor. It's often said that a careful
listener can predict the likely quality of a performance in the first 10
seconds; in this case, about one second was enough. Chui-fun's opening
octave mordent was crisp, bright, assertive, and dramatic -- as was the
rest of the piece. She closed with a pleasing Schumann F-sharp Romance
and seemed assured of a place in the semifinals.
J. Michael Brounoff ("BREW-noff"), a lawyer from a well-known Texas
family of lawyers, gave a songful performance of Schubert's A-flat
Impromptu from Op. 90 and followed it with a sensitive, relaxed reading
of Debussy's "La fille aux cheveux de lin." I enjoyed his playing very
much and told him so, but given the generally high level of technical
accomplishment, it seemed unlikely he would make the semis. (He didn't.)
TUESDAY, JUNE 6: Prelims, Day 2
Tuesday's first order of business was trying out the performance piano
on stage. It was a Steinway D (naturally) and was a glorious instrument;
even more sensitive than last year's piano. We were only given seven
minutes to try out the nine-foot beauty: everyone would have liked
more time, but at least we weren't limited to four minutes as we
were last year.
After meeting the piano, I returned to the cheerful grind of practicing.
A pleasant surprise arrived shortly after noon: a complimentary lunch
buffet, courtesy of the Cliburn Foundation. Aside from being a friendly
gesture and a tasty break, the lunchtime spread gave contestants a chance
to socialize. Some of my strongest memories of the competition are
from these daily mealtime conversations; it was a great way to meet
new friends and to discuss our common passion, pre-Columbian art.
(Wait a minute, that was just me; I guess we mainly discussed music.)
We were all sorry about Paul Doerrfeld's accident with his deadly
Chopin Etude the evening before; at the same time, we knew that
such disasters could happen even in much less dangerous pieces.
With many of us still to play, we tried not to think too hard about
something like that happening again. (Should I go back and practice
that tricky bar in the Rachmaninoff a few dozen more times? No, no,
stop it! Either it will go or it won't; it's too late to worry.)
Around this time, my friend Mike Hawley from MIT walked in. I hadn't seen
him since the last competition, and we immediately dashed off to a practice
room to play our most obscure pieces for each other. I ran through my
Scriabin Polonaise (fairly frightening), and Mike did his Art Tatum "Sweet
Lorraine," which was a lot of fun and looked hideously difficult.
Having put in all the practice I dared before my performance that evening,
I went over to Ed Landreth for the last segment of the afternoon session.
I particularly wanted to hear Daniel Kandelman, a French-Canadian dentist
and professor. He was playing the unfamiliar Gratia transcription of
(probably-not-)Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor: it was much less thick
than Busoni's version, and Daniel performed it with considerable gusto.
The Bach/Gratia was followed by a seemingly wacky choice: Joplin's Maple
Leaf Rag. In a Cliburn Competition?! The unconventional selection turned
out to be brilliant: Daniel played with perfect sympathy for the idiom.
He made a number of small changes to the score that felt exactly *right*
-- a few extra notes here; a little rhythmic tug there. Joplin would
surely have smiled. The experience was similar to one's first encounter
with an Ignaz Friedman recording of a Chopin Mazurka: "Oh, so *that's* how
it's supposed to go!" I glanced over at the jury: John Giordano was
grinning like a kid who had just been given a double-dip cone of his
favorite ice cream.
After the session ended, Mike Hawley and his friend Mary Farbood gave a
short two-piano recital featuring works from a longer program they'd just
played at MIT. The repertoire was unusual: Liszt's own two-piano arrangement
of "Les Preludes" and Reger's two-piano version of Wagner's Meistersinger
Prelude. Liszt, Wagner, and Reger don't rank very high on my list of
favorite composers, but the pieces were played with such flair and obvious
pleasure that it was impossible not to enjoy them. I chuckled at some of
the quotations Mike had included in his entertaining program notes:
After Liszt, Mozart was like a soft spring breeze
penetrating a room reeking with fumes.
-- Eduard Hanslick
[Liszt] cannot squeeze any music worthy of God or man
from his own brains, but he is greedy of other works,
as a cat is of cream.
-- Frederic Chopin
After the mini-recital, I had a nice surprise in the lobby. Joan Dyer,
one of my New York friends (and IBM colleagues) was visiting her
stepdaughter Clare in Austin and had hoped to drive up to Fort Worth for
at least the preliminary session in which I was playing -- and here she
was, along with Clare. It was especially nice to have an enlarged support
group for what was in many ways the scariest part of the competition, no
matter how far I ultimately advanced.
My own performance time was rapidly approaching. I wolfed down a
sandwich, took a leisurely walk around the campus to clear my head,
ate the prescribed banana to reduce stage fright (according to legend),
and headed for the final warm-up room. My father came along to put
me in a performance mood: I played through the Bach/Busoni Chaconne,
one of the long pieces from my final round. It went pretty well,
earning a "bagpipe laugh" from my dad. (He has a characteristic
laugh of genuine pleasure that I associate with his delight in my
bagpiping as a boy and young teenager. Whenever he makes that sound
at the end of a performance, I know it must have gone reasonably well.)
My father wished me luck and left the room with a bagpipe smile
on his face. I'd try to remember that happy expression if I got
into trouble onstage.
A few minutes later, a monitor took me over to the on-deck room in
Ed Landreth, just across the hall from the stage entrance. Being alone
in that room for fifteen minutes with only a final warm-up piano as company
was the one really nerve-wracking part of the entire experience. I had no
interest in warming up any more, and my brain, already high on adrenaline,
was in danger of chewing itself apart. In addition to last-minute worries
about the upcoming pieces, all sorts of strange and uncomfortable memories
can surface in such circumstances. I didn't want to suddenly remember that
time in high school when I had a fatal memory slip in a Bach fugue during
a master class, or that nasty cut on the thumb three weeks before an
important recital in college, or ...
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions.
-- T. S. Eliot,
"Rhapsody on a Windy Night"
It was a good thing I had brought along a cheesy Avengers novel
to occupy my neurons:
Emma made a fairly spectacular entrance to the dining
room in ... a sweater which clung to her supple body
provocatively as she moved. ...
"My apologies for being late, Steed," Emma said
as she settled herself at the table. "You got my
message, I hope?"
"In common with every other male in the room, thank you.
I am lost in admiration at the infinite capacity of your
overnight bag."
-- Patrick Macnee, "Deadline"
Finally, a monitor opened the door and said it was time to go. I walked
across the hall and through the stage door, quietly saying hello to
longtime backstage mother Louise Canafax, a charming, classic Southern
woman who unsuccessfully tried to get me to speak more slowly both this
year and last. Steve Cumming, a friendly and humorous man who was the
competition's announcer once again, greeted me warmly and introduced me to
the audience. I walked onstage feeling a curious mixture of excitement,
anticipation, and hope that my own strong feelings about the music would
come through.
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
-- T. S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"
The performance went well. I'm tempted to say that's all I remember
because it's almost true: for me, a good performance leaves little
memory other than a happy residue and fleeting snatches of heightened
existence. I remember sitting a little too close to the keyboard,
but still being more comfortable than usual since I'd decided to
dispense with the cumbersome jacket that most male pianists still wear.
I began with the Copland Passacaglia: a compelling, rarely-heard work
that should be performed more often. I had studied it with my first
piano teacher (Joan Broadhurst in Atlanta) and had last performed it
almost exactly twenty years earlier, in the first week of June 1980.
The first five minutes of the piece went very smoothly. I hit a couple of
clinkers during the difficult climactic section, but overall, it felt good.
No one clapped.
I was surprised. Last year, applause was generally withheld until the end
of the program due to the tight 10-minute length, but this year, people
had been clapping pretty freely in between pieces. Had the audience hated
the Copland? Had they loved it so much they didn't want to break my
concentration? I didn't know. I put it out of my mind and dove into
Rachmaninoff's great Etude-Tableau Op. 39, No. 5. He wrote the piece
only a few months before leaving Russia forever; the poignant fade-away
ending after all the tumult is quite moving if played without
sentimentality. Again, there were a few scattered wrong notes, but
the tone, balance, and overall effect felt strong. I was pleased.
At the end, applause finally broke out. Quite a lot of it. Louise and
Steve were also enthusiastic. Steve briefly interviewed me for possible
inclusion in his radio show, then remarked, "I'd be *very* surprised if
you didn't make the semifinals." Richard Rodzinski's comments during the
break were even more encouraging: "Terrific, just terrific!" he said, with
a bagpipe smile of his own. I was delighted that the Copland had gone
over so well: several fellow competitors (including Mike Hawley) were
quite taken with it, and the reviewer for the Fort Worth newspaper singled
it out for special mention the next day. Without undue optimism, it
looked like I was going to make the semis. I could relax a little.
After playing, I settled down to hear the night's remaining pianists, two
of whom particularly stood out. Colorado restaurateur Greg Adams gave a
fine performance of Mendelssohn's Variations serieuses, with especially
strong lyrical sections; the Fort Worth paper gave it a rave review the
following day. New York psychiatrist Mark Cannon offered an unusual and
effective program of Schubert's A-flat Impromptu from Op. 142 and two of
Seymour Bernstein's "New Pictures at an Exhibition." The Pictures were
aggressive and interesting; not to all tastes, but I liked them. The
Schubert was melodious and had a wonderfully flexible but inexorable 3/4
beat. When I complimented Mark on his exceptional rhythmic control, he
and his wife both started laughing. "You should have been around for all
those hours of practice with the metronome!"
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7: Semifinals, Day 3
In the Waits Hall practice rooms, it was another day of what was rapidly
becoming a familiar routine: a vigorous morning practice session followed
by an informal but tasty lunch with other competitors. Len Horovitz, a
fellow New Yorker and fellow 1999 semifinalist, related his own horror
story. Before his prelim performance, he made a large adjustment to the
piano bench using those maddeningly slow knobs on the sides of the bench.
Len then began to play Prokofiev's Third Sonata and immediately developed
a muscle cramp in his chest. He grimly kept going; after 30 seconds, the
cramp mercifully faded. He seemed uncertain about his advancement to the
semis this year; for what it was worth, my parents had mentioned that they
thought Len had played well.
After this sobering story (one hell of a lot scarier than "Where's my
golden arm?" for a bunch of pianists sitting around a virtual campfire),
the discussion turned to the definition of "amateur." The competition
had adopted a simple rule: if you didn't make your living as a pianist
or piano teacher then you could call yourself an amateur and enter the
contest. Raising the minimum age to 35 helped eliminate a few of those
still vacillating between careers. The equivalent French contest has a
crazy minimum age of 18: who wants to go compete against some "amateur"
Juilliard students?
There was some spirited talk about whether those with music degrees should
be allowed to enter. All of my own degrees are in computer science, not
music, but I still felt that ruling out music majors would be a serious
mistake. Given the difficulty of making a career in music, there are bound
to be plenty of ex-musicians who have been earning a living as lawyers or
cab drivers for the past twenty years. Denying them a chance to compete
feels unfair -- even if it means admitting a few questionable amateurs
along the way. Yes, it's true that musicians with degrees in the field
are likely to have a larger stock of polished repertoire to draw on than
a pianist with fewer years of intensive training, but I can live with that.
As Richard Rodzinski puts it, "No professional would benefit by calling
himself an amateur; winning this competition would not boost one's
professional career." Joel Holoubek, last year's enormously talented
winner, reports that little has changed for him: he's still a coin dealer
in Paris who plays a couple of concerts every year.
After lunch, I wrapped up my practice for the day and headed over to hear
the end of the afternoon session. Several pianists were surprised I was
listening to so much of the contest -- even on days when I was going to
perform myself (Christopher Basso remarked to my aunt, "He must have
nerves of steel!") -- but I found that I *wanted* to hear as much as
possible. It didn't make me nervous and I enjoyed it tremendously.
I felt more deeply immersed in the whole event this year: it wasn't just
practice and performing, but closer interaction with more pianists, both
personally and musically. I made a number of new friends who were only
faces in the program book last year, and discovered that my 1999
performances had made a positive impression on more people that I realized.
The most memorable pianist of the entire competition made her first
appearance at 4:15 that afternoon. Steve Cumming introduced Debra Saylor
without fanfare, in much the same genially professional way he introduced
all of us.
We saw the long white cane first. There was a collective gasp.
Debra Saylor was blind.
Debra made her way to the piano bench with surprising speed and adjusted
it quickly with well-practiced motions. She spread her arms widely
across the keyboard several times to judge both height and proximity.
My mind was awash in conflicting emotions. This was remarkable,
brave, commendable -- but would it be any good? Were we about to
hear a junior-high-school rendition of "The Happy Farmer" and feel
compelled to applaud due to the circumstances?
Debra began with Schubert's familiar "Moment musical" in F minor.
It was good. *Very* good. I was smiling within seconds.
The performance had a cheerful Viennese lilt and real charm.
Next came Debussy's "Clair de lune," for which no one was prepared, or
could have been prepared. Debussy's overplayed work, mutilated by several
generations of piano students over the past century, glowed to new life in
Debra's hands. Her tone was warm and deep, her legato singing, her
phrasing impeccable, her pianissimos infinitely shaded. Anyone who
claims not to have been in tears by the end is probably lying. It was
one of those revelatory performances in which one feels the composer's
ideas fusing with the artistry of a gifted pianist.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.
-- W. H. Auden, "In Memory of W. B. Yeats"
Debra closed her preliminary program with Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu.
There was an unfortunate problem: she got a little scrambled in the
opening passagework and had to start again. And again. Finally, on the
third attempt, the piece kept going and went very well (though nothing
could have topped her Debussy). She reached the end without further
incident and was rewarded with heartfelt, roaring applause. For a moment,
it crossed my overly-rational mind that Debra couldn't see whether I stood
up or not, but common sense finally prevailed and I joined the standing
ovation.
I later learned that Debra has been blind since birth and has never
actually seen moonlight (or anything else, for that matter). She didn't
mention her blindness in her competition application; when she arrived in
Fort Worth, she startled the Cliburn staff as much as she later startled
the audience.
I would hate to have been one of the pianists following Debra; it was
very difficult to concentrate on their playing. (Remember that scene in
"Mr. Saturday Night" where Billy Crystal had to follow The Beatles on the
Ed Sullivan Show?) When the afternoon session finally ended, it was time
for the now-traditional competitor/jury dinner at Joe T. Garcia's, a Fort
Worth landmark. My mother, with her steel-sieve memory, had been calling
the restaurant "Joe Maguire's"; whatever its name, the food was tasty
and the garden setting quite relaxing. My Uncle Jack (Terzian) made a
lifetime friend in fellow Armenian Sevan Melikyan of the Cliburn staff;
Sevan later told me, "You have *such* an interesting uncle!"
The evening session, by luck of the draw, had a high percentage of
standouts: seven of the twelve performers ended up making the semifinals.
First was Mike Hawley, who opened with a dark and beautifully shaded
reading of the Bach/Busoni "Ich ruf zu dir" chorale prelude. He followed
this with an unconventional Scriabin Op. 42/5 Etude: the piece built
almost entirely towards the last page instead of lashing out with the
usual outbursts halfway through. Mike ended with an endearing Liebesleid;
just the right amount of schlag. I told him I'd have the jury killed if
he didn't make the semis this year.
Next came The Amazing Christopher Basso, who almost immediately
established himself as the likely winner of the competition. He began
with several movements from Bach's B-flat Partita in a performance so good
that I have no memory of *why* they were good; I was too busy listening.
Christopher wrapped up the round with a technically dazzling rendition of
Ravel's Ondine: a bit too articulate and explicitly virtuosic for me, but
very impressive. He left the stage with the word "Winner" emblazoned on
his forehead.
Completing the opening trio, massage therapist Joey Freeman gave an
effortless performance of Chopin's B-flat minor Scherzo. The reading was
perhaps a little loose, but the keyboard command and sense of exuberance
were strong.
Later in the evening, Stephen Hubbard impressed everybody with
his fluid finger technique and appealing tone in Liszt's "Un sospiro"
and Chopin's treacherous Op. 10/4 Etude. He was followed by one of
the pre-competition favorites, Charles Chien, who daringly played
an all-Mozart program (the first two movements of K. 333). This
was potentially very dangerous -- to quote John Giordano, "Everybody
thinks they've discovered the *only* correct way to play Mozart" --
but it paid off. Charles played with high artistry and was a
sure semifinalist.
After the final contestant had played (Viktors Berstis, who did
a nice job in a difficult slot with his all-Chopin program),
the jury left the auditorium to select the 18 semifinalists.
We all milled around and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Last year, the post-prelim judging took only 45 minutes. This year,
the jury was out for almost two hours. The combination of a high level
of playing and a few exceptional cases (Debra Saylor and Paul Doerrfeld
in particular) must have made the process unusually difficult. The
list of semifinalists ended up being pretty reasonable, though of course
I have a stake in saying that:
Gregory Adams
Melinda Baird
Christopher Basso
Charles Chien
Robert Finley
Miho Yamada Fisher
Joey Freeman
Allan Fuller
Michael Hawley
Stephen John Hubbard
Scot King
Michael Moore
Hiroko Ohtani
Chui-fun Poon
Ronald Roberts
Steven Ryan
Debra Saylor
Carl Tait
Curiously, every semifinalist was American. I was sorry to see that
certain pianists had been eliminated (Mark Cannon, for example) and there
were two truly startling omissions: Henri-Robert Delbeau and Greg Fisher.
Henri had the misfortune to draw the first slot of the entire contest (he
actually played second due to a plane delay), so his absence is at least
partly explicable on non-musical grounds. But Greg Fisher? How could
such a poetic pianist with good fingers have been omitted? I honestly
have no idea.
The semifinalist with the strongest reaction to her selection, perhaps not
surprisingly, was Debra Saylor. She was alternately laughing and crying,
and kept ecstatically repeating "Oh my God! Oh my God!" As the competitor
next to her alphabetically, I helped her move around during the subsequent
photo shoot and selection of sealed envelopes to determine Friday's
playing order. Debra was genuinely astonished that she had made the semis
and utterly thrilled about it. I reassured her that her "Clair de lune"
had been miraculous and that everyone I'd spoken with had loved her playing.
Some may quibble about the restarts in her Chopin, but really, who cares?
The piece hadn't fallen into unrecoverable ruins halfway through; it was
fine except for the stumbles at the start. Any jury with ears and heart
would have been crazy to keep Debra out of the semis.
(As I write this, a similar experience comes to mind from a high-school
competition: I had muffed a Bach piece, having had to restart it [twice!],
and had ruled myself out of contention to advance to the next round.
Surprisingly, I made it; even more surprisingly, one of the competition
staff quietly told me that I had been the judge's top choice, despite
the stumbling.)
THURSDAY, JUNE 8: Rest Day
This year, contestants were given a rest day in between the preliminaries
and semifinals. This was an excellent idea that several of us had
suggested: the selection of semifinalists is such a tense, emotion-filled
event that having to play again the next afternoon is quite a strain on
the amateur's psyche.
I had originally planned to head over to Dallas to see notorious
Dealey Plaza, site of the Kennedy assassination (or so we've been led to
believe; Kennedy was actually killed on the planet Neptune). The call of
the piano was too much to overcome, however; I spent yet another day in
the practice rooms, occasionally emerging to chat with other contestants.
Greg Adams graciously listened to my Scriabin Polonaise and had a couple
of excellent ideas about how to shape the most cryptic section; I hoped
to be able to incorporate his suggestions by the following evening.
And that's it. (See, I can be concise when nothing happened.)
FRIDAY, JUNE 9: Semifinals
The semifinals didn't start until 2 PM, so I had plenty of time to get my
practicing out of the way beforehand and listen to the entire afternoon
session. The level continued to be high and the playing generally very
enjoyable. The jury was enormously enlarged for the semifinals and
finals, a practice I still consider dubious. I'd much rather have the
same small, expert jury across all three rounds of the competition.
Greg Adams led off with an interesting mix of Mompou, Falla, Ravel,
and Chopin. Aside from a slightly rough start to "the Chopin Toccata"
(the Etude Op. 10/7), Greg played very well and appeared to have an
excellent chance at the finals. Afterwards, he didn't seem entirely
happy with his performance, but I thought this was largely the
"hyper-self-critical amateur" effect. I have heard professionals
give atrocious recitals that they nonetheless believed to be glorious
due to a combination of egomania and self-delusion. Though most
top pros are capable of evaluating their own playing with some degree
of objectivity, talented amateurs seem especially keen at picking
up their own faults, however minor. We *know* what fine piano playing
sounds like, and we play our absolute best infrequently enough that
we're all too aware when we fall short of the top level.
Ron Roberts delivered an exuberant program featuring two of the works from
my Cliburn repertoire last year: the first movement of Ginastera's Sonata
No. 1 and Liszt's Petrarch Sonnet 104. He ended with a dancing "L'isle
joyeuse"; his rapport with the audience was palpable. Later on, Allan
Fuller (Director of Table Games at Harrah's Casino) inventively combined
Mozart's Sonata K. 332 with Scriabin's Etude Op. 42/5. I had found
Allan's prelim performance of the Mephisto Waltz rather bangy, and was
pleased to see that he had adjusted well to the piano in the semis.
His Mozart was fluid and beautiful (though probably too romantic for some),
and his Scriabin roared without screaming.
Mike Hawley's semifinal program stirred up some controversy -- not because
of the playing, which was really first-rate, but because of the selection
of pieces. Mike opened with Faure's last Nocturne (no controversy there),
then followed it with two of Bolcom's Ghost Rags and Art Tatum's Sweet
Lorraine. I have absolutely no objection to any of these choices
individually (and would, in fact, *encourage* them), but playing all of
them together in a 20-minute recital left the program without enough meat
for my tastes.
Suppose that Daniel Kandelman had opened with a Bach Prelude and Fugue,
then followed it with Maple Leaf Rag, The Entertainer, and Pine Apple Rag:
I would have loved every minute of it, but it simply wouldn't have been
varied or hefty enough. Yes, it's true that Bolcom won the Pulitzer Prize
(for 12 New Etudes, not the Ghost Rags), and his rags have an elegant,
witty sophistication, but much the same can be said of "Old Possum's Book
of Practical Cats" (substituting Nobel for Pulitzer [and Eliot for Bolcom]).
I had no idea how the jury would react; certainly there was no question
in my mind about the high quality of the playing, and I hoped that would
be enough.
Christopher Basso easily earned a spot in the finals with his program
of Scarlatti, Chopin, Rachmaninoff, and Debussy; his "L'isle joyeuse"
was especially scintillating. Stephen Hubbard paired Mendelssohn's
Variations serieuses with Debussy's Toccata (from Pour le piano) and
was another strong contender for the finals. His leggiero chords and
passagework were exemplary: light and bouncy, but always with rounded
tone -- avoiding the Scylla and Charybdis of either bright and brittle
or thin and wimpy.
Melinda Baird wrapped up the afternoon session with the Rachmaninoff
D major Prelude and yet another Variations serieuses. Both were well
played, with the emphasis on drama in the Mendelssohn, but an unfortunate
fumble and subsequent scramble on the very last page meant that it
would be a fight to get into the finals.
After the session, I was glad to meet Tom Shaw (regular contributor
to rec.music.makers.piano) and his wife Phoebe. Tom had been following
the competition keenly, and it was gratifying to hear that he'd enjoyed
my prelim performance. (Earlier in the day, an audience member had
quietly chirped behind me, "Carl Tait, you're my favorite!" I'll take
all the fans I can get.) Tom was looking forward to the evening session;
I hoped I wouldn't disappoint him.
My performance time rolled around with startling rapidity. Even my
purgatory in the dreaded on-deck room wasn't taxing this time: it was
almost annoying to abandon my Avengers novel in mid-chapter and move on to
the backstage area. It was nearly routine by now: the purring exhilaration
of an upcoming performance, with very little stark terror. Steve introduced
me and I nearly ran on stage.
The piano bench felt very high, and I had to crank it down a lot before
beginning -- while suspecting that at any moment I was going to be struck
by a Len Horovitz muscle cramp. No cramps attacked, and I started the
Schubert G-flat Impromptu. As far as I can remember, it was technically
perfect but a little small-scale -- and I was working way too hard.
Why? I paused at the end of the piece and toyed with the bench again.
Next came the Scriabin Polonaise, a rarely-played work that was my
biggest worry. It has a few very difficult and stretchy passages
that hadn't fully settled into my fingers -- fast, fat chords rolled
over spans of elevenths and twelfths. Again, I was having to work
very hard, even in passages of less-than-monumental difficulty. There
were a number of obvious problems that would be noticeable even to
those unfamiliar with the piece; the worst was a jumbled bar in the
middle section that could have been mistaken for a major memory slip.
Still baffled as to why I was expending so much physical effort and
playing well below my best level, I fiddled with the bench a little more
before launching into Ravel's formidable Ondine, the piece that had gotten
me into the semifinals last year. This year's performance was strange.
There were several nontrivial problems in passages that aren't all that hard
(by the standards of the piece); conversely, some of the most demanding
passages sailed right by with little effort. "Where'd *you* come from?"
I remarked silently to my suddenly cooperative right hand after the first
fiendish double-note passage. I have absolutely no memory of the last
three pages of the piece, so they probably went pretty well.
I left the stage confused. Steve and Louise, however, were enthusiastic.
"Was that good?" I asked. They both thought so. I wondered, though: once
a pianist has demonstrated competence and musicianship, there's a tendency
to hear through the mistakes in the absence of a blatant catastrophe.
I knew there had been some real problems, and wasn't sure how gracious the
jury could be in overlooking them. Steve interviewed me again, thinking
I had at least a good shot at the finals; I told him it was probably the
oddest performance I'd ever given. There was a lot of good playing in
there, but a lot of weirdness, too.
The audience, at least, was very enthusiastic in their applause,
which made me feel better. It's always possible to stir up a large
response by playing as fast and loud as possible -- or, at the opposite
extreme, by wallowing in sentimentality -- but I hadn't done either of
those tacky things. The musical intensity seemed to have come through,
which meant that the performance couldn't have been too terrible.
It wasn't until some time later that I finally figured out what had
happened on stage. The pianist before me, Chui-fun Poon, was a small
woman who had cranked the bench up all the way. I didn't lower it
far enough before beginning, and started with a quiet, introspective
piece in which there's a tendency to lean forward. The net result of
the awkward position was that my elbows went too far back, cutting
my upper arms out of the playing mechanism. No wonder I had to work
so hard! I was annoyed with myself for making this silly error; at the
same time, I was glad there was a clear and easily-implemented solution
to the problem.
During the break, I was startled by all the compliments I received, both
from audience members and (even more gratifying) from fellow pianists.
Several thought I was sure to make the finals, which still struck me as
dubious at best. My favorite comments came from David Hibbard, a Fort
Worth railroad manager who had made the semifinals last year and by all
accounts had played well again this year. David was enthusiastic about my
Ondine, delighted that the underlying menace of the deadly water spirit's
music had come through. He then added offhandedly, "And I hated the
Scriabin, but that's not your fault." I doubled over laughing, pleased
both that he would speak to me so freely and that I'd managed to put
enough personality in the piece for him to discover that he really *did*
hate it.
I was so busy thinking through my own performance that I was able
to pay attention to the rest of the pianists only intermittently.
Joey Freeman cut through my introspection with a superb reading
of Liszt's Vallee d'Obermann, full of rich, dark tone. His fine
architectural command held the sprawling piece together well.
Joey's octaves were effortless and melodious; I thought it very
likely he would make the finals.
The always-interesting Michael Moore played an all-American semifinal
program: "The Last Hope" by Gottschalk and the lone, masterful sonata
by Charles Griffes. The Gottschalk was well played, but lightweight
even by the standards of salon music. One of the jury later remarked,
"I've never seen so much icing on such a bad cake!" A competitor whose
identity I will diplomatically conceal said that after about the fiftieth
time through the insipid, tinkly accompaniment figure, he wanted to run
up on stage, slap Michael's right hand as if it were a misbehaving child,
and say "Stop that! Stop that!"
Once again, though, I admired Michael's courage in programming works that
he felt strongly about, and his ability to project them with conviction.
I was particularly excited by his choice of the Griffes Sonata: one of the
finest American piano pieces and one I had nearly chosen to play in the
contest myself. Unfortunately, Michael had a rocky time, making some
major errors at the very start and continuing with clumps of wrong notes
in passage after passage. It was a shame because I'm sure he can give a
terrific performance of this piece; sadly, this wasn't it.
Charles Chien's semifinal round consisted of a single work, Schumann's
Waldszenen (Forest Scenes). Charles's playing was up to the high
standards of his preliminary round, but the piece has always struck me as
... well, pretty boring. Maybe this reaction is hereditary; during the
performance, my dad handed me a note: "I think these Forest Scenes are
from 'The Blair Witch Project'" (a movie that had bored him intensely).
Despite our lack of enthusiasm for Schumann's leafy snapshots, we all felt
that the quality of Charles's playing was worthy of a spot in the finals.
In addition, he had survived the only cell-phone incident of the contest;
the offender was some moron at the end of our row who left immediately and
(thank goodness) never returned. The next day, Steve Cumming announced,
"We went down to the courthouse last night and made ringing cell phones
a hangin' offense."
Soon it was time for the jury to decide on a list of finalists.
Christopher Basso was a lock; Charles Chien and Mike Hawley deserved
to make the cut based on their playing (though I still had reservations
about both their programs); beyond that, it was very much in the air.
I would probably have settled on (alphabetically) Greg Adams, Joey
Freeman, and Stephen Hubbard, with Melinda Baird and (ahem) Carl Tait
somewhat behind. As it turned out, only the three obvious choices
made the finals -- the complete list was:
Christopher Basso
Charles Chien
Michael Hawley
Michael Moore
Steven Ryan
Debra Saylor
I had not heard Steven Ryan in the prelims, and his semifinal program was
in the midst of the evening session when I was only half-listening. He
had made a hit with the audience without making a strong impression on me
one way or the other; I'd have to reserve judgment until hearing him in
the finals. Debra Saylor had performed pieces with minimal technical
demands, but had played them with artistry and emotion (I was sorry not to
have heard her semifinal round). It is certainly unexpected to advance to
the final round of an international piano competition with Chopin's
Military Polonaise as the most difficult piece in one's program! But
Debra's playing was deeply musical and moving; though one could debate the
decision, I certainly felt it was defensible.
But Michael Moore? This was, quite simply, a technical error in judging.
In absolute terms, I considered Michael among the top handful of pianists
in the competition, but he had not played well at all that evening from a
technical standpoint. Apparently, a majority of the jury completely
missed all the problems in the Griffes, incredible as that may seem.
Still, given Michael's strong abilities, I was hopeful he would play
well in the finals -- as indeed he did.
SATURDAY, JUNE 10: Finals
The finals consisted of six half-hour programs: three one-hour sessions of
two pianists each. On this rainy Saturday, Steve Cumming remarked that it
was perhaps appropriate that the finalists would be playing two by two
(as audience members laughed, groaned, or stared blankly, depending on
their affinity for Biblical humor).
I was dismayed to learn that two finalists had chosen to play the
Liszt Sonata, a work for which my mild initial enthusiasm has dwindled
to almost nothing. Mike Hawley's performance had an almost operatic
flavor, with lots of big, dramatic pauses throughout. It was technically
commanding and, I suspect, quite appealing to those who have not lost
the ability to enjoy the work. (Sorry, Mike!)
Christopher Basso was next, with a staggering reading of the Prokofiev
Eighth Sonata. It was his finest performance yet and, along with Debra
Saylor's Clair de lune, the best playing of the entire competition.
The finale was especially thrilling: great rhythmic drive without
pounding, remarkably clear textures, and a build-up of excitement
all the way to the finish line. There was virtually no doubt that
Christopher would win all the major prizes.
After the first break, Debra Saylor gave her final program: the Chopin
Nocturne Op. 55/1, Ravel's Pavane, and (continuing her moonlight theme)
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Aside from some curious rhythmic bumpiness
in the Ravel and slight distortions in the first movement of the Beethoven,
Debra made a hit with her trademark glowing sound and warm-hearted
interpretations. It was a treat to hear her again since I'd missed her in
the semis; the only real liability (as before) was the relatively low
technical difficulty.
Michael Moore played a characteristically interesting program:
the Bach/Siloti G minor Prelude, Haydn's C major Sonata (XVI:50),
and the Gounod/Liszt Faust Waltz. Like Christopher Basso, Michael
gave his best performance in the finals: there was real personality,
flair, and (unlike the previous evening) excellent technical control.
Based on the final round and the prelims, Michael deserved second
prize, but it wasn't clear how the jury was going to factor in their
blooper of missing the problems in the semifinals.
After the final break of the competition, it was Steven Ryan's turn.
His playing still didn't click with me: it was technically assured
and decidedly musical, but for whatever reason, didn't excite me.
(I have a similar reaction to the respected pianist Richard Goode.)
I seemed to be in the minority, however, and there *was* one very
impressive performance in the program: yet another Ondine. This was
clearly the best of the four Ondines heard during the competition,
with beautiful, unforced sound and high virtuosity. My only complaint
concerned all the unmarked ritenutos in the first half; this was
Ravel's most notorious pet peeve. I could imagine his comment to
Steven: "Tres bien joue' -- mais SANS RALLENTIR s'il vous plait!"
(One procedural point: a professional photographer snapped about a
dozen pictures of Steven during his performance. The sharp clicks of
the shutter were quite audible; two of Steven's very few finger slips
immediately followed camera clicks. Photography should not be allowed
during performances except in the case of *totally silent* cameras
such as some digital models.)
My father, aunt, and uncle doubted they could survive two Liszt Sonatas
in the same afternoon, so they left the concert hall while my mother and
I remained to hear Charles Chien round out the finals with his reading
of the piece. Charles's view of the work was completely different
from Mike's: metrically tighter, with a general approach that leaned
more towards the lyrical than the dramatic. Sadly, a couple of minor
memory slips led to increasingly serious technical problems. It is
extremely difficult to continue a performance of a long, uninterrupted
work under such circumstances; Charles fought through bravely to the end.
The jury left to deliberate. The rest of us went out in the lobby or
milled around in the auditorium. Everybody knew that Christopher Basso
was going to win the first-place Jury Award and the Press Jury Award, and
probably the Audience Award as well, but who was going to win second and
third? There was very little agreement. While we were waiting for the
results, one of the jury members came up to me and said that my Schubert
had moved her to tears. I was touched, but embarrassed by my technical
problems, and explained what had gone wrong with my arm position.
"Oh, I know," she said, "but it was still beautiful."
The final decisions were made quickly. After a short but compelling
speech by Van Cliburn himself (now *there's* a guy with stage presence),
the awards were announced:
First Prize (Jury), Press Jury Award, Audience Award,
Best Baroque Work, Best Modern Work: Christopher Basso
Second Prize and Best Classical Work: Stephen Ryan
Third Prize and Best Romantic Work: Debra Saylor
Most Creative Programming: Mike Hawley
(The trio of sophisticated fun stuff paid off after all!)
See the Cliburn Foundation home page at http://www.cliburn.org
for more details. The final results can be found at:
http://www.cliburn.org/2000_competition_results.htm
After the awards ceremony came the farewell dinner, held at a club that
seemed to take pride in how difficult it was to find. It was a joyful,
memorable occasion, full of musical conversation, high enthusiasm, and
reluctant farewells. To our disappointment, the party eventually ended.
And then it was over -- until 2002. Can we wait that long?
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.
-- T. S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"
--
Carl Tait IBM T. J. Watson Research Center
cdt...@us.ibm.com Hawthorne, NY 10532
Josh Klein
Carl, your accounts of the competition just keep getting better.
Congratulations on the pianistic (and literary) achievements. It
just makes me wish more that I could have been there to hear you
in person.
--
Josh Klein
Amherst College
Tom Shaw
TS
Carl Tait wrote in message <8ifufc$1...@diamond.cs.columbia.edu>...
>Going Home Again: The Second Cliburn Competition for Amateurs
>
>By Carl Tait
>17 June 2000
>
> Footfalls echo in the memory
> Down the passage which we did not take
> Towards the door we never opened
> Into the rose-garden.
>
> -- T. S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"
>
EXTENSIVE SNIP
Andrys D Basten
Carl Tait <ta...@diamond.cs.columbia.edu> wrote:
>Going Home Again: The Second Cliburn Competition for Amateurs
>
>By Carl Tait
>17 June 2000
Superb report, Carl. And your quotes from poetry often gave
me chills they were so apropos and so strong.
Someone sent me a report from another list from a contestent
(whose name I don't remember right now) and I may find it and
post it later, if I can.
Isn't it time that you sat down and played/recorded pieces and
put them on mp3.com for the rest of us, played as you want them
heard? More and more people are going on DSL or cablemodem and
others can download to hear on their own pc's. I see that
Demus will have complete composer works on soon. While I am not
a fan of Badura-Skoda's playing, a huge assortment of his is up
as well. Why not Carl Tait's? It's now easy to make a decent
personal recording, put it on CDR and then convert it to mp3 in
a few minutes...
Many thanks for this detailed report.
- A
--
Andrys Basten, CNE http://www.andrys.com/ PC Network Support
http://www.andrys.com/indox.html - Machu Picchu PhotoDiary w/Canon Elph
http://www.andrys.com/books.html - Search several stores on one page
Search VIDEOS, SHEET MUSIC, CDs, Gramophone reviews
http://www.andrys.com/freddyk.html - Freddy Kempf on CD
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art almeida.
And what a wonderful piece of reportage....
Art Almeida
"Andrys D Basten" <and...@netcom.com> wrote in Why not Carl Tait's? It's
Carl Tait
Andrys D Basten <and...@netcom.com> wrote:
>
> Superb report, Carl. And your quotes from poetry often gave
>me chills they were so apropos and so strong.
Thanks! Most of those quotations actually came into my mind
during the competition and felt right to include in the write-up.
> Someone sent me a report from another list from a contestent
>(whose name I don't remember right now) and I may find it and
>post it later, if I can.
This might have been by Robert Finley, whose own report can be found at:
http://www.ultranet.com/~rfinley/vcipoa.html
Viktors Berstis has a great set of pictures at:
http://www.berstis.com/pictures.htm
All the 18 semifinalists:
http://www.berstis.com/c080029.jpg
(Left to right: Baird, Adams, Basso, Freeman, Chien, Finley,
M. Y. Fisher, King, Moore, Hawley, Fuller, Ohtani, Poon, Hubbard,
Saylor, Roberts, Tait [shirttail out], Ryan [blue jeans -- guess
who two of the computer guys are?], John Giordano [jury chair])
(Ron Roberts was sitting near Debra and helped her up on stage)
For me in the semis playing (I think) the Scriabin Polonaise, see:
http://www.berstis.com/c092006.jpg
(Finally managed to get my arms extended here, but note the
uncomfortable position and my steep leg angle => bench too high!)
The competition's three IBMers (Viktors, me, and David Winn):
http://www.berstis.com/c101935.jpg
(Neither Viktors nor I had any business cards with us,
so we each held one of David's and pretended)
> Isn't it time that you sat down and played/recorded pieces and
>put them on mp3.com for the rest of us, played as you want them
>heard?
Interesting coincidence: I had scheduled studio time at the end of
next week to record these pieces while they're still in my fingers.
If they turn out reasonably well, I'd be glad for people to hear them.
More details after I have the final recording in hand (mid-July)....
Thanks to everyone who has posted congratulations or sent e-mail:
I'm trying to respond to everything, but it will take a little time.
Andrys D Basten
Carl Tait <ta...@diamond.cs.columbia.edu> wrote:
>In article <8ih18n$sik$1...@slb7.atl.mindspring.net>,
>Andrys D Basten <and...@netcom.com> wrote:
>>
>> Superb report, Carl. And your quotes from poetry often gave
>>me chills they were so apropos and so strong.
>
>Thanks! Most of those quotations actually came into my mind
>during the competition and felt right to include in the write-up.
>
>> Someone sent me a report from another list from a contestent
>>(whose name I don't remember right now) and I may find it and
>>post it later, if I can.
>
>http://www.ultranet.com/~rfinley/vcipoa.html
I just looked and it's by Michael Hawley. It's not nearly as interesting
as yours, however.
>Viktors Berstis has a great set of pictures at:
>http://www.berstis.com/pictures.htm
>
>All the 18 semifinalists:
>http://www.berstis.com/c080029.jpg
>(Left to right: Baird, Adams, Basso, Freeman, Chien, Finley,
>M. Y. Fisher, King, Moore, Hawley, Fuller, Ohtani, Poon, Hubbard,
>Saylor, Roberts, Tait [shirttail out], Ryan [blue jeans -- guess
>who two of the computer guys are?], John Giordano [jury chair])
>(Ron Roberts was sitting near Debra and helped her up on stage)
>
>For me in the semis playing (I think) the Scriabin Polonaise, see:
>http://www.berstis.com/c092006.jpg
>(Finally managed to get my arms extended here, but note the
>uncomfortable position and my steep leg angle => bench too high!)
>
>The competition's three IBMers (Viktors, me, and David Winn):
>http://www.berstis.com/c101935.jpg
>(Neither Viktors nor I had any business cards with us,
>so we each held one of David's and pretended)
Will check these out tomorrow then. Got home late and must go
straight to bed as have an early and long day Thursday. How
neat they're all on the web though. More so will be your mp3's
though as I'm sure you'll do something you'll want to share.
You probably already practice with tape, no? Best audience
in the world: yourself.
>Interesting coincidence: I had scheduled studio time at the end of
>next week to record these pieces while they're still in my fingers.
>If they turn out reasonably well, I'd be glad for people to hear them.
>More details after I have the final recording in hand (mid-July)....
Fantastic!
- A
--