http://www.youtube.com/watch...

I have been glued to youtube this week watching traditional Romanian folk dances, bandalonean performances and Flamenco, Andalusian Cante Jondo singing.

I have always loved folk music, and now that I have the notes under my fingers, I need to start making some stylistic decisions, and learning the musical folk dialects that inform the music on my upcoming CD recording.

But I have to admit I have began to get a little obsessed. After listening to ten versions of one De Falla song, in Spanish, memorizing the lyrics, trying to imitate the words on my cello, then checking out a violin version, then five cello versions, then back to the famous singer, I am utterly confused. My brain starts to run in circles “now what was it she did that sounded so good, heavy on the first note of the 16ths? Or crescendoing into the final one, should I take out the slur, the text makes it seem like these should be more short and emphasized, maybe I need to change the bowing……” Three hours later, I have one measure figured out, and even that measure I am not so sure is completely authentic, or that I will even remember what I had decided after all the options I tried.

What is authentic anyway? I am finding that the Romanians argue as to whether Bartok’s music was based in gypsy themes, or peasant themes, and believe me, they really differentiate between these two groups. In truth, he collected from both populations. But in any given piece, this may affect whether the rhythm should have rubato, in a gypsy fashion, or be more strict, as in a peasant dance. One source I read insisted that the peasants weren’t simple and boring, that they sang with rubato and flair, even in their dances. Well, I suppose it depends on which peasant they listened to, no? When we think country do we think innocent, simple and not complex music, or organic, free flowing and unpredictable like the weather and crops?

Classical musicians have always had to master a diversity of styles. We wouldn’t imagine playing a Mozart Sonata in the same way as a we might play Brahms. But I think the tendency towards “authenticity” has intensified since the early music movement began making claims about how Baroque music should be performed. I will never forget that after a first introduction to historically accurate playing, a professor told me that I could not trust my instincts. I think I know what he meant, but that sounded like a dangerous direction to head it. How can I ever be convincing to my audience if I am not drawing from a deep musical sensibility? If I have to intellectualize my playing so much, aren’t I missing the point. Luckily, I naturally have a varied sense of musical style, and pick up inflections well. While I suck at accents when talking, I was always a good actress, and could take on any character I wanted. The same stands in music, if I internalize the feel and character of a music, the stylistic details tend to fall into place. Well, mostly. And its that “mostly” that had me glued to the computer splitting my brain over the little notes.

Once a diva could play most things in the same lush manner, and all would be well. Now, however, stylistic accuracy is akin to political correctness as a sign of cultural respect and education. I am all for it, and want to go as far from bastardizing some Folk tradition by ignoring the accents, sounds and characteristics of musical style to each particular region. On the other hand, I know that I will never be a “native speaker” . Classical musicians are criticized for always playing the some old “dead white guys music”, but we also get some finger wagging when we pretend to be something we are not, or profit from imitating an ethnic style that is not our own, and do it poorly. As the world gets smaller, our bag of tricks gets bigger.

While it is allot of work, I find the whole process improves my musicality, and is invigorating and challenging. On the other hand, I find it ironic that in order to sound like a peasant out in the field organically belting out tunes that my ancestors sang for centuries, I have to set aside my own natural tendencies. Is this inauthentic authentic playing?

Musical styles from various cultures have always interwoven to create new styles, music is a dynamic art form with both innovation and tradition. While Vaughan Williams weaves folk tunes into a classical piano and cello arrangement, I am bringing all my artistry as another thread to add to the fabric of style. While a great musician mostly gets out of the way of the music and allows it to speak through them, I also believe what we personally bring to the table should matter too, just as an actress might draw on her own life to understand and fill out a character.

So in the name of not becoming a museum piece that merely represents a correct style, or losing my unique expression or voice, I am getting in touch with my inner Andalusian Flamenco Gypsy, Romanian Peasant, Celtic fiddler, downtrodden prostitute in Buenos Aires slums, and Japanese Geisha. Once all those characters arrive, then I can be authentically authentic. And along the way I may get that Tango shrieking slide just right, and my de Falla 16ths might at last have that guttural and powerful throaty cry that sends a chill up my spine, in a good way, every time I hear a Cante Jondo song.

The myth of the starving artist is compelling and romantic. In this culture, we seem to reserve the greatest level of admiration for those creative characters who live in a disheveled apartment in NY, typing away on an old type writer, living on coffee and crackers, and the passion for their art. These are the geniuses of the generation who, unfortunately, often only get discovered after they are dying of syphilis, or have already passed. We mourn at their sad state. We wonder, “why did no one help this poor soul while he was alive?”.

But we often don't help them and this is why. History has taught us to believe that without that suffering, the artists would not have created such profound work. A larger proportion of musicians, artists, writers and dancers historically have had abusive childhoods, chronic physical illness, mental troubles and abject poverty, persuading us to fear that if things were a little easier, we might miss out on something like Beethoven’s Helige Dankegesang, or Mozart's Requiem.

To make matters worse, the artists themselves unwittingly perpetuate their own misery and the starving artist myth by measuring their own level of devotion in terms of what they sacrifice for their work.

Being raised in a cash strapped family with four siblings, I had the experience of needing to sacrifice the luxuries of life, and I felt the limitations imposed by a lack of money. I watched my friends travel on field trips to Peru, order from the J.Crew catalog, while I wore hand me downs and chipped in with house work and baby-sitting jobs.

I became skilled at making do with less, and in adulthood survived on very little income. The starving artist myth fit me like a glove.

Recently, in a heated debate with some fellow artists about financial needs, I was accused by one of my friends of being selfish and defiling my art by mixing it with financial concerns, that art was bigger than all of this mundane stuff. On some level I certainly agreed with him, and this realization motivated a penetrating self inquiry.

As one living inside of the creative process, and being the one with the gifts, I have always felt that I am, in a sense, an ambassador for the divine. My musical gifts, are just that, a gift, one that I have been given the mandate to share with my fellow humans. My ability to hold my suffering, and therefore the suffering of my companions, in compassion, is a part of that gift. Thus, the calling to make music is one that transcends the ego structures of my personal daily life.

Such a mandate of the soul has no limits. Just as a loving parent will stay up long hours with a sick child, not expecting a reward, so to, an artist will devote a life time of exploring their craft and expression. It is a calling and a mission on the level of spiritual devotion. And this is the crux of the situation: there is no way to place a financial value on something that we would do no matter what. It is priceless in the sense that it does not operate in the same value system as an exchange of goods and labor does. Because of this, when it comes time to “sell” our work, no price is too high or too low. Because it does not come with a price tag.

Add to this confounding situation the fact that we creative souls are our own worst critics. The natural result of a life long devotion to a creative process is a sense that we have never arrived at a finished product. We are also reticent to ask for financial reward for our work, because we feel it could reflect on the value or lack of value of our artistry.

Since artists seem to bear all the trappings of a spiritual disciple, then it is no surprise that we are living out the myth of the martyr, given the predominating religious paradigm in our culture of Christianity. Not that this is the only message from the bible.

I reached my crisis point a few years ago, when, after pouring everything that I had, body, soul, money, time, energy, husband, parents, scholarship, loans into cello, then finding myself making $8 an hour playing in a symphony and doing the work of a full time professor with a half time adjunct salary of $20,000 per year before taxes. My husband and I were living on the elk meat his father had shot, racking up credit card debt for groceries, and waking up at night to drunken college students fighting in the yard of our small rented apartment.

And I was one of the lucky seven cellists who landed an academic teaching job that year in the entire country.

I barely had time for practicing, and the performing I was doing was not fulfilling me. I was living the starving artist myth, without the artist part. It became clear that without financial support I would be incapable of giving my music to the world. That, contrary to the myth, starving and artist were in contradiction to each other.

At last I came to the realization that while I could never place a value on my music I could allow the world to support me to survive, to eat, to put a roof over my head, so that I could continue to be a vessel for this beautiful gift of music that moves through me. Shaking in my boots, I began to have the courage to ask for the financial compensation and support from the community around me.

Which brings me to another myth in our culture. That of the diva. The radiant and talented artist, embodying the best of humanity, admired, beloved and richly cared for. This image was so beautifully expressed in the sparkling Buddha's in Thailand, and I know that it was in kneeling in the Temple in Bangkok in May 2009 that I let go at last of the martyr paradigm, a paradigm that, despite not being a practicing Christian, had a firm hold on my life. I began to see that I could serve my purpose in the world, not through suffering and sacrifice, but through thriving, abundance and joy.

I have been through hardships more difficult then may be readily apparent, the least of which have been financial. But I do have a gratitude for the understanding that these experiences have given me of the pain of others. I feel uniquely capable of expressing the human emotion that lies beneath the black squiggles on the page. As for financial hardship, by not being raised to expect money easily, I have learned both the value of money, but finally, to not be bound by my financial circumstances.

At 17 I was one of the chosen few from around the world to attend the Tanglewood Institute for the summer. My father had just lost his job because of the recession, and my family was on the brink of bankruptcy. with my mothers support, I wrote letters to relatives and family friends, played concerts, even put an advertisement in the paper. At the age of 17 I raised $3,000. At Tanglewood I played along side of children of NY Metropolitan Opera players, or wealthy Harvard-bound korean-Americans .I had master classes with Yo Yo Ma, and Neikrug and performed some of the great orchestral repertoire. But the story of how I got to Tanglewood was almost more miraculous than attending the festival.

The same holds true today. To accomplish an endeavor that requires the support of many individuals, I learn that one way that I can show my devotion to music is by accepting that, as a performer, I have only one part to play in the creation of music, even if a crucial one. Art is indeed greater than what I can accomplish alone, and I can serve it best by remembering that, aside from some very meaningful individual creative contributions, I am the vessel, and not the substance in the vessel. To ask for support to build a strong and sturdy vessel for this purpose is neither entitled nor selfish, but rather humbling. Is this not the ultimate and most profound sacrifice, to devote our entire lives to something that we cannot fully possess or own?

In accepting support of a larger community, I am relinquishing the martyred artist myth, as well as releasing my iron grip of possessiveness on music. I am accepting that it takes a community to raise a child, and to bring beautiful music into this world. I am happy with the role that I get to play, though. Being the communicator for something so magnificent and complex requires hours of hard practice. But in the midst of the surrender and passion of performance I get to transcend the narrow confines of my own life, and for a moment, sparkle and shimmer with a certain diva light.

“I am told that when grapevines were first cultivated in California the vineyard masters used to try the experiment of importing plants from France or Italy and setting them in their own soil. The result was that the grapes acquired a peculiar individual flavor, so strong was the influence of the soil in which they were planted. I think I need hardly draw the moral of this, namely, that if the roots of your art are firmly planted in your own soil and that soil has anything individual to give you, you may still gain the whole world and not lose your own soul.”

Ralph Vaughan Williams

I am not sure why it is that certain composers have the ability to reach so deeply into our hearts, or why they feel more compatible with our intrinsic musicality, but Vaughan Williams holds that place for me. The last time I performed the Six Studies in English Folk Song, my pianist, one who almost never doles out compliments, turned to me in a rehearsal and with wide eyes remarked that this piece matched my voice closely and beautifully.

As a doctoral student, when I began to dig into the lives and backgrounds of our composers, I discovered that Vaughan Williams and I had a lot in common. An earthy yet dreamy pastoral coloring in his music reflects his love for Folk music. He was also a late bloomer, and carried a hefty dose of self-doubt about his musical abilities. I suppose it also helps that a significant portion of my ancestors come from the British Isles.

But not everyone likes Vaughan Williams. People seem to fall strongly in favor for or against his music, which is ironic, considering the fairly delicate and sweet nature of his style. My Mom, for one, can’t stand the Lark Ascending, she feels as if he wanders around too much and never gets anywhere. I suppose that is exactly what I love about it.

As I am practicing for my CD and revisiting the Six Studies, I am struck by how incredibly challenging it is to play with the warm and simple beauty that the piece demands. The pure and transparent song texture leaves no possibility to cover up intonation mistakes with wild vibrato, and the sound needs a richness that can never indulge in romantic lushness.

I think it is easy to overlook this type of work as simplistic and easy, both to compose and perform, but it is just the opposite. Maintaining the purity and innocence of folk character, yet projecting subtle uniqueness inside of that character is what makes this music so profound and powerful.

Every now and then I have one of those days when I feel like my world is crumbling around me, and nothing makes any sense. That is when my husband puts on Vaughan Williams, specifically the recording of St Martin-in-the-Fields playing Dives and Lazurus. As a teenager, when I had boy trouble, I would call my friends, but I also used to lie on my bed and weep to the strains of The Lark Ascending.

It is such an honor to have the opportunity to perform and record this work. It is comforting to know that no matter how lonely and frightening my journey may be, there will always be the gentle voice of Vaughan Williams to call me back home.

Words and music, two of my favorite mediums of expression both enter our experience less directly than an image. Since first impressions can bias a person strongly, I am fully aware that the choice I make for a CD cover could have a major impact on how people listen to my music, think about my artistry, or even whether or not to buy my CD. Before looking at my options I would like to digress for a moment.

As an Oberlin student in my early twenties my friend Natalie had an assignment for her photography class that led to several hours of us having a fun time, her shooting away and me posing with my cello. The results of her work was a series of compelling images, as well as some images that I have hidden in a very secret place so that no ne will ever find them! Natalie’s class mates critiqued her work. Her artistry was overlooked, because the students were distracted by the fact that the body of her subject was conventionally thin and beautiful, and obsessed with a man made object, a cello. Later, I thought I would try this out in my women studies class and used one of my favorite photos on a paper about image analysis. Interestingly, and very telling, the image received the same criticism from my professor as it had from Natalie’s classmates. In both instances, my beauty had me victimized and not worthy of artistic assessment. You have to love Oberlin!
(Actually I DID love Oberlin, but there were some interesting moments). At the time I insisted that the image was empowering, showing that a woman could be both beautiful and skilled. Today, when I look at the photograph, I see an embryonic character to my posture, that aptly reflects my barely budding musicianship. With eyes closed, wrapped around the cello, there is also a sense that this instrument is a lifeline, a somewhat narcissistic reflection of my beauty that kept me intact. Also very true.

Skip ahead to 2010. As an artist, I no longer confuse my public image with my identity, yet crave enough authenticity in what I present that my integrity remains intact. It becomes a question rather of which aspect of my creativity and self will I reflect at any given moment, a choice that I have to make in each piece that I play, and even in each section of each piece. As a musical actress I can relate to each character, but also do not mistake any as being solely me.

So here we are with my dilemma. As a debut album I would love to give an impression of coming out of my shell, a powerful musician ready for any success that may come her way. From this perspective the sitting down image with hair blowing does the job well. From a playful creative perspective, and in keeping with the Dance aspect of the title of the Cd, I like the movement and grace of the image with the cello apart from my body. But let’s face it, I look a little dorky, and silly. Finally, the third image, a coy sort of look, a touch of red, an almost gypsy-like mystique...this one has my attention. So the tie really is between the first and third image.

Perhaps it is my Oberlin education, but I can’t help but wonder: is the first image too masculine, too much of a woman who has become hardened and tough to get ahead? Or is her masculinity a sign of empowerment, that she has gone beyond the bounds of her upbringing and can embrace all aspects of herself? The second image is more indirect, and thus more conventionally feminine. Am I hiding my true power here? Am I pulling my punches? Or is the subtlety of this image speaking to the uniquely feminine type of power that women wield, embracing the delicacy of our tenacity and gentle strength? The whole gender issue aside, what about simply considering the theme of the CD. Wouldn’t the image with the scarf reflect a more folk or ethnic type character.

In a nutshell, which is the more important event here, the theme of the CD, or this being my debut? Does empowered diva self, or artistically authentic character win the day?

To view images go to blog

http://www.rebeccahartka.com/blog

Hey people,

I changed my rewards so that you get more for your donation. I think this is only fair since you don't get tax deduction.

Also, my blog will be posted here as well as on my website blog page, so you can be involved in the creative process.

Cheers,

Rebecca

Swimming last week in the murky waters of mechanical rights, and royalties, I began to lose sight of the meaning of all of this. But today, as I was practicing and some of the chords of this magnificent Zarabande fell into place, and this piece that I have never heard before, and is, in fact out of print, and forgotten, came alive from the page under my finger tips, I remembered.

Suddenly I knew I had to call that publisher one more time, twenty more times if needed to get the recording rights. Because, somewhere, about 100 years ago, a Spanish composer penned a short but breathtaking movement for unaccompanied cello, with an eloquent and graceful nod to Bach, but chordal harmonies with Flamenco guitar dissonance and color.

It is amazing to me how powerful music is at capturing our imagination. When I roll the chords, and feel the vibration of the sevenths, I can almost feel the pain of love lost in Madrid, wandering the cobblestone streets looking for that person who shared that timeless moment of embrace.

There are so many layers to “classical music”. It is a vivid and complex art. This dance form, the Sarabande or Zarabande,, reaches far back into time and cuts across cultures. So here I am, an American woman, in 2010, feeling the slow 1,2,3 that people in Spain danced hundreds of years ago. People fell in love to this dance, gossiped and perhaps died to these poignant strains. Thank-you quiet soldier of history, and all other composers who have the courage to straddle that delicate balance between tradition and invention, connecting the past and the future to create a no longer forgotten gem.

I waned to invite you to visit my blog and read about the project developments

http://www.rebeccahartka.com/blog