by Daniel Anastasio

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R Pia
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by Daniel Anastasio
I
dreaded each day that led up to my first three-week
stay at the Boston University Tanglewood Institute
Young Artist Piano Program. My piano teachers told
me I was talented, but I rarely spent more than 45 minutes a day practicing, and sometimes I skipped a day or
two. Piano was great, but it was a side thing. It certainly
wasn’t worth missing the 6 new episodes of my favorite
shows, 54 holes of golf, hundreds of hours on my computer, and countless kisses from my girlfriend over the
three weeks I was there. My parents, who had encouraged
me to apply to the program, assured me that as soon as I
arrived I would enjoy it, and my piano teacher agreed.
As soon as we arrived and I stepped out of the rental
car, all I could hear was a storm of notes coming from the
practice sheds—private structures just big enough to fit
a piano—scattered across campus. The sound of pianos,
French horns, flutes, violins, and clarinets filled the air. I
resisted the thought that one of those sheds would belong
to me in a day or two. After I got settled into my room
and met everyone on my dorm’s floor—mostly pianists,
too, and nice enough—I took a look at my schedule for
the next day.
11:00 a.m.–12:30 p.m.: Master Class
12:30–7:00 p.m.: Free Time
7:00–8:00 p.m.:
Piano Discussion Class
8:00–11:00 p.m.:
Free Time
11:00 p.m.:
Curfew
imagine
With the exception of the once-a-week lesson from
each of the two piano teachers, this was my schedule
for the entire three weeks. My first thought was, if I had
known I’d have all this free time, I would have brought a
lot more stuff from home.
In the Mood
My first master class was instructed and organized, as
most of them were, by Maria Clodes Jaguaribe. Born and
discovered in Brazil as a piano prodigy, she had traveled
to Europe at a young age to study music. After falling in
love with an American man there, she followed him to
the United States.
She filled every master class with her insightful stories.
The three students assigned to play for her barely had
time to, as the classes were never without a lengthy tale
of a personal event from her past or an experience she
had had with a well-known teacher or performer. These
events seemed simple and ordinary to her, but to us they
sounded wonderful and extraordinary. Her stories gave
us a new perspective on music and on life, and showed us
how the two should be inseparable for us. They destroyed
any initial competition between the students and made
way for personal reflection.
I was nervous when it was my turn to play for her
and the other students, although I knew the piece I was
playing, Liszt’s “Liebestraum,” quite well. Because I didn’t
November/December 2007
Photo by Robin Berghaus
have to concentrate on the technical aspects of performing this piece, I thought instead about my audience, and
I was consumed with anxiety. Still, I managed to play it
smoothly.
After I finished, Maria asked me if I had ever been
in love. The question left me pale, dumbfounded. My
answer, after much hesitation, was no. She reminded me
that a “liebestraum” is a love-dream, that the piece required a touch and expression that could only be derived
from a knowledge and experience of love. At this point I
was distraught, as I had never been in love and this key
element to the piece was clearly missing. Maria rushed
toward me, exclaiming that she would be my lover!
Though Maria and I still joke about that day, it captures the way she teaches and the way she thinks about
music. Before the piece begins, she immerses herself into
the mindset of the composer and the contexts in which
the piece was written. The performer must feel, she
believes, as Liszt felt. One way to address a piece is to try
to take on a mood that matches its style. In this way, a
performance is a metamorphosis of the performer. Just as
an actor takes on a role as a character, performers need to
take on the role of the composer. Maria once told us that
classical musicians are “slaves” to the composers whose
music we play.
Drinking from the Fountain
Tanglewood students have the opportunity to attend
concerts by the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted
by world-renowned artists. The first year, I took these
concerts for granted. I left the few I did attend at
intermission. But something powerful struck me when I
returned home after my first year. The atmosphere of the
camp clung to me, but no matter how much I practiced
at home or how many recordings I listened to, I missed
Maria telling her stories. None of my friends were as
interested in music as, I now realized, I was.
I went back to Tanglewood the next summer, and the
next. By the second year, I was attending more concerts
and yearning to practice. During my third summer, I
found myself sobbing at the end of a performance of
Beethoven’s third piano concerto. The performance affected me so deeply that remembering it now makes my
heart beat faster.
November/December 2007 My third stay at Tanglewood fulfilled me more than
anything ever has, but I wouldn’t feel as strongly as I do
without having spent my first two years there. Musical appreciation is cumulative. Experience builds on
experience to form a personal connection with music,
but that connection is constantly changing. The sense of
discovery is infinite, indefinable, and entirely subjective.
And, because the body of music literature to discover is
enormous and always expanding, music is an everlasting
fountain to drink from. Tanglewood was a place to drink
and discover.
Practice sheds around the
campus give musicians a
private space to work out new
musical ideas.
Transformation
One of the most rewarding experiences for me this past
summer was the simple task of turning pages during
a four-hands recital given by Maria and her assistant,
Duncan Cummings. They performed a Mozart sonata,
Schubert’s F minor Fantasy, and Faure’s Dolly Suite.
Staying focused while standing next to two remarkable
pianists as they perform is no easy task.
After the clapping and the congratulations and the
overall relief that performers and audience members feel
after a performance, I walked outside. The trees around
me seemed so much taller, and the light rain seemed
to fall from heaven and not the clouds. I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of it all that I felt physical pain in
my chest.
Today, I play the paino not for progress or achievement, but for my own happiness. I look forward to
practicing because it nourishes me. Once a side thing, the
piano has moved solidly to the center of my life. i
Last May, Daniel Anastasio performed a
concerto with the San Antonio Symphony
as a winner of its Future Stars competition. A graduate of Saint Mary’s Hall in San
Antonio, TX, Daniel is currently a freshman
at Cornell University, where he expects to major in music.
He also plays squash and is a member of the bowling club.
For more information about
Tanglewood Institute, see
page 26.
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