So Rostropovich is dead. I'll say this: love his playing or hate it (I think at various times and for various pieces of music I've been on both sides of this), he's one of the greatest musicians who's ever lived.
I did have the pleasure of meeting him once. It was during my senior year of high school, and he was performing with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. At that time, I was traveling to Chicago every other week to take lessons with one of the section cellos in the symphony, Brant Taylor. It wasn't the ideal situation, but I think he was excellent for helping me get ready for my auditions.
At any rate, being a member of the symphony, he was able to get me and my family half-priced tickets, so we actually went down to see the symphony a few times, and one of those concerts was Rostropovich conducting an all Britten program. Brant had already offered to take me back stage at intermission, to see if I could get in to talk to him, so I was ready, Rostropovich CD in hand, hoping to at least get an autograph.
So at intermission I went back to his dressing room with Brant, and indeed he immediately let us in. I don't remember all of the details, but after he saw my hand, he started talking about how one can only become a great musician through great hardship and struggle, that without those things, one loses a lot of what it really is to be a musician. I'm not sure that I've ever really believed that; especially since it seemed to be my particular "difficulty" (which of course is no diffiuclty at all) that prompted him. But I'll never forget what he showed me next. He rolled up his sleeve, and actually started sliding his wrist around (I can't really explain it, except to say that it looked as though it was almost still in two parts). Apparently, when he was in his early teens, he had broken it quite severely (and clearly at the time surgical procedures were not quite up to modern standards). He said it took a year of long, hard struggle, just to get himself to the point where he was able to rotate the bow onto the string. That's dedication that I can only dream about. At that point, with much encouragement, he kissed me on the cheek, and my family and I went back to our seats. He also signed my CD, which reads: "To Dear colleague Brian with all best wishes Yours, M. Rostropovich."

Can't practice lately . . . at all. Kinda bad . . . I still want to enter this competition, so I have to record an audition tape in the next couple of weeks. But whatever. I can't admit to caring. At all. Can anyone tell I need to get back to school?
Of course that means making new friends again. Scary thought. Was hoping to maybe be going to school with some of you wonderful Eastman folks (you know who you are) . . . but no dice. And that's fine, actually, I already know of a few old friends from festivals who'll be in New York next year, and I talked to Wayne the other day and he wants to start a piano trio. As much as I used to dream of a quartet in grad school, lately that's been seeming like it'll be more work than I'd like. String quartets are so freakin hard to put together. Piano trio is just more relaxing. Admittedly, quartets are also more rewarding . . . but I'm also not sure I have the mindset for that anymore. I'm doing beethoven 59 #2 right now, a great piece, and one of my favorite Beethven quartets (there are so many), but it's frustrating. Without so many hours of rehearsal, it's just impossible to make a quartet sound good. And we don't have the time for that. And yet we're going to perform the whole piece. I just don't see the point. We might be able to make one, possibly two movements sound good. Maybe.

I sat down to write a blog entry, but then realized i didn't have anything to write about. I always think of things I'd like to put in my blog, but then never do. And now when I feel like writing, I've got nothin.

I guess I could write about Imus. But I don't give a fuck. Some moron said something that offended a bunch of people, and lost his job. Don't care.
The Duke case is more interesting . . . for instance, it's really easy to say, yeah, we should always be careful in prosecuting rape crimes because we don't want to falsely accuse someone . . . then again I often read horrible stories about women, later found to have been raped, having their stories and characters demeaned. Let's face it, the only solution is to find out what went wrong and try to make sure it doesn't happen again. In this case, it seems the prosecutor overreached, and witheld evidence, possibly illegally. May even get disbarred. So really, what we're seeing here is not a case of men being persecuted (although we could well say it was privileged white men being persecuted, as ironic as that sounds; I'm referring to men here as a gender), but of special circumstances, and factors such as race, contributing to a massively erroneous (hopefully, anyways) rush to judgment. I say this because, every time I see some comments to the tune of "well this probably happens all the time, we should be more careful" . . . I worry, because, let's face it, rape is a crime that SHOULD be prosecuted as aggressively as is legal and ethical.
Just my two cents on a random issue.

So the "Easter Bunny" was unusually generous this year . . . a good bottle of scotch. There's something about scotch tipsyness that makes it somehow better than being tipsy on other drinks . . . maybe it's the pleasant aftertaste, or the knowledge that it wasn't just boring run-of-the-mill beer that puts one in a bit of a cloud . . . but I like it.
I finally saw The Exorcist last night. As a horror movie buff I had no excuse for waiting this long, other than the fact that when I was about 12 or 13, this movie scared me so bad I had, not so much nightmares but horrible images, for weeks. I'll admit to being rather . . . sensitive when I was younger, especially to frightening movies. After seeing Arachinaphobia, for isntance, I couldn't get near a spider for years. Still don't like them very much, but that's nothing abnormal. But yeah, the Exorcist. Incredible movie, in its own right. Incredible because I think it makes itself very easy to "buy into", in ways that most movies don't. By today's standards it certainly isn't gory, but then again, there are a few scenes in it that I think continue to carry quite a bit of shock value. And that's saying something, for a movie made 35 years ago. It also manages to build tension without being too obvious about it, and then all hell breaks loose, so to speak.

Counting down the days until I have fun things to do again (ie summer) . . . I need to GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.

AHH!!! Mannes came through with the money I requested! So officially, I'll be going to Mannes next year to work with Tim Eddy. It'll require a large amount of debt . . . but for the opportunity to study cello in New York with a teacher I idolize . . . well, it's worth it.

So things are slowly coalescing. I got an IM a few days ago from Mr. Eddy saying that I'm in with him at Mannes. We both wrote a letter to the scholarship committee requesting more aid for me . . . I really hope they come through.
I finally called Stony Brook, as Mannes is giving me like one millisecond to either commit to go there next year with Eddy, because apparently the waitlist for his studio is light-years long. And Stony Brook told me that I got in but they weren't giving me any financial aid. So that's out. I must admit I'm a little . . . surprised at that. Although I can't blame them. Their tuition is so cheap already . . . still, it wasn't hard at all to eliminate it as an option at that point.
And I finally got an E-Mail confirming that I HAVE been assigned to a studio at Juilliard (should i decide to go), and it happens to be Richard Aaron's, which is good, because he's definitely the best of my remaining options there.
So if Mannes comes through with more money, the problem is solved . . . if not, I'll have to ask myself whether it's worth it to pay an extra $12,000 over two years to study with a teacher who's a better fit for me. Tough question, and honestly, one I really hope I won't have to answer.

Warning: ludicrous, school-related rant ahead. Read at own risk.


Never in my life did I ever think getting enough money to go to Juilliard would be such a pain in the ass. But wow was I wrong. So yeah, I got my aid package the other day, and the grant gives me enough to afford to go; they even included a really nice loan package that basically covers all my living expenses, and I don't have to start paying a dime until after I graduate. So it's a pretty damn good deal, for a school in New York City, anyways. Problem: my top two teacher choices are pretty much out, Mr. Vardi thinks my third choice would be a bad idea for me, and beyond that, I have NO idea whom I'd work with. To top it all off, my Mannes situation is . . . well, still up in the air, and I STILL haven't heard from Stony Brook . . . and Juilliard needs to know by freakin' April 15th!
I of course realize the irony of being annoyed at a situation that's largely awesome . . . except it's kind of stressful, too. For instance, my parents are telling EVERYone that I got into Juilliard . . . I think a lot of people will be disappointed if I don't go. Which is an attitude I've been railing against for years, since there are so many great schools and amazing teachers out there that go largely unnoticed. While that's the sort of pressure I largely ignore, it's hard. I mean, from the moment you start music, you always hear that magic word: Juilliard! Some school that magically makes you into an amazing soloist, or something akin to that. I mean, I almost feel obligated to go, since I can afford to. But teacher trumps everything but money . . . but then again, unless Mannes shells out more, it'd be really tough to go there, even IF my top teacher choice eventually takes me.
So yeah, I still don't have any idea where to begin. Maybe if Stony Brook got off their ASSES and sent me some god damn INFORMATION I might have some IDEA what direction I might want to take. Instead I'm just sitting here feeling stressed because every minute that ticks by is one where some financial aid at Mannes might be drying up, or the studio of a really amazing teacher at Juilliard that I don't know about is filling up . . . sigh.


Ok, ludicrous rant over. It really is silly to complain about such fortune. But until I get this thing solved, it's gonna feel less like good fortune and more like a big headache.