THE STRAD 1989

[Steinway&Sons]

NATURE'S GIFT

David Blum speaks to Kyung-Wha Chung

about her teachers, her ideals and her inspiration

I have no need to introduce readers of THE STRAD to the artistry of Kyung-Wha Chung. Winner of the Leventritt Award in 1967 at the age of 19, she has been acclaimed throughout the musical world not only for her remarkable instrumental ability, but for her special quality of communication. Her violin playing, never an end in itself, is the servant of an ardent recreative force. Her concentration is total, her performance vibrant and poetic. She seems to visualise the shape and texture of each phrase before she plays it. I remember Casals in rehearsal, calling attention to the character of an easily neglected pizzicato figure. 'Remember,' he said, 'every note has an intention.' Kyung-Wha Chung never touches bow to string without an intention. Intellectual comprehension plays a role, but intuitive perception lends a sure, guiding hand. She enters into the flow of music with innate grace and courageous abandon; she is alert to every musical intimation as a deer is to the life of the forest. I trust that Kyung-Wha Chung will forgive the simile; she herself feels that her art draws sustenance from nature.

   When one hears the noble lyricism with which Kyung-Wha Chung traces a melodic arc on her violin, one isn't surprised to learn that her musical talent first expressed itself through singing. 'I loved to sing, and in fact I made my debut as a singer on a local radio station when I was two-and-a-half. My parents were conscientious and believed in a well-rounded education. As they were music lovers, it was determined that all seven children would have piano lessons. Four of us have become professional musicians, but only my brother, Myung-Whun, has remained with the piano. He was awarded second prize in the Tchaikovsky Competition. The atmosphere at home was encouraging. Our parents were never destructively critical as some parents can be without realising it. My piano playing however, was doomed to failure. i had no sense of co-ordination at the instrument; I couldn't get the left and right hands together. Shortly before I turned seven I was given a violin, and the difference was enormous. There's an inexplicable chemistry between myself and the violin. It's hard to explain the affinity one feels for a particular instrument. For example, my sister Myung-Wha took wonderfully to the cello; the violin didn't seem natural to her. I think that high frequencies please me more. I made more progress with the violin in two weeks than I made with the piano in two years.' By the age of nine Kyung-Wha was playing the Mendelssohn Concerto with orchestras in Korea. How did she manage this in so short a time? 'I just loved the violin!' she exclaimed disarmingly.

   In her first five years of study, Kyung-Wha had a succession of seven violin teachers in Korea. 'The most inspiring of these was Shin Sang Chul, who taught me every day, and gave me a sense of a beautiful violin sonority. He must have provided a sound training, because when I went to Juilliard, Mr Galamian didn't have to make major alterations.' The move to New York took place in 1961 when Kyung-Wha was twelve; she received a full scholarship from the Juilliard School. Normally Galamian didn't accept many very young students, but this period was exceptional by any standard; among Kyung-Wha's peers were James Buswell, Itzhak Perlman, Yung Uck Kim, and Pinchas Zukerman. 'We all gathered together during the summer at meadowmount, played chamber music, listened to each other, admired each other, and tried to steal each other's talent.'

   Kyung-Wha enjoys reminiscing about her studies with Galamian. 'Some people have described Galamian as being emotionally detached, but I found the opposite to be true. He was the most affectionate man I've ever known, and was almost a father to me. He was totally dedicated; teaching was his whole life. In Korea I had played completely freely. But when I started to work with Galamian I decided to dedicate myself entirely to being a student. I knew that if I wanted to get somewhere, I must submit to many years of intensive musical training. I had tremendous trust in Galamian. Although he wasn't himself a brilliant player, he could demonstrate and explain everything with great clarity. He realised that every student had a different physical make-up and would analyse with wonderful shrewdness just where the problems were. I would ask him, "Why am I having trouble with this bowing that I've practised for a week?" Perhaps I wanted to get a more powerful effect in a detache passage. In an instant he could see just where the problem lay, and would, for instance, advise putting a little pressure more on a certain point of the bow, or turning the frog slightly inward. He never ceased to amaze me because it always worked. After all, a teacher can talk endlessly about the expressive or spiritual aspects of a work, but when you have to play it, no matter how much you have in your head, you have to physically execute it. And that was where Galamian was so extraordinary. Projection of sound was very import!ant to him. Many young players conceive their sound in the practice room. They are lost when they come on to the stage. I was encouraged to play forte, without scratching of course, and to create an impression of playing piano while really playing mezzo forte.'

   To what extent did Galamian allow his students freedom to develop independently? 'It's true that he asked us all to follow his own bowings and fingerings. And I almost always found these to be excellent, for instance in the Bach solo works; they provided a superb foundation. At first I would obey him as if he were a god, but after some years I would suggest fingerings that I thought might be better for me, and he would give me permission to use them if I did so in a convincing way. All of his students had different ways of playing. If a student is sensitive and talented he will find his own character. Galamian's aim was to give every student a basis of technique so that his or her personality culd express itself fully.

   'I stayed with Galamian for ten years - ten years of hard work. Luckily, I was absolutely sure from the beginning that I wanted to be a violinist, and I never lost that feeling. I've only felt discouraged when I couldn't achieve what I wanted on the instrument, and it seemed like chasing a rainbow. Young players tend to be intuitive, and it's sometimes a painful struggle to work consciously to develop a technique. I've noticed that many Korean violinists are extremely expressive and temperamental. They tend to get carried away, and have difficulty controlling the physical side of their playing. But the head has to work together with the heart. I used to feel that every note in a phrase is beautiful, but I didn't have the sense of proportion to be able to see the notes in relation to the whole piece. I was like a wild horse that had to be tamed. Also I had difficulty controlling the tip and the heel of the bow, and making seamless bow changes. To be on the safe side, I would play in the middle of the bow. James Buswell had wonderful bow control and I worked day and night to emulate this. At the beginning such technical challenges seemed an almost insurmountable hurdle. But, with Mr Galamian's help, I gradually won my way through. After the Leventritt Competition Galamian showed me a little black book in which he kept a detailed record of the building of his students' repertoire. In it he had noted that I had studied the whole range of etudes, the Bach solo works, and about 30 concertos.'

   In addition to Galamian, certain musicians had a strong influence on Kyung-Wha's development. One of these was Szymon Goldberg. 'He is the most knowledgeable scholar, the most noble musician I've met. His approach was different from Galamian's. He felt that I was exaggerating the necessity to project my sound. My training had been extremely extroverted. He brought another dimension. I only saw him about half a dozen times, but his influence was lasting. I also had the opportunity to study chamber music with Josef Gingold, and this was extremely inspiring. Gingold helped me understand the function of vibrato. He would make me vibrate on every note - everything became so alive - and he encouraged me to experiment with different types of vibrato. He also stressed the value of expressive intonation, of subtly adjusting the intonation to the changes in harmony. he himself did this marvellously. I was so taken with the idea that, as with most things I learned for the first time, I tended to exaggerate it. Since then I've become more moderate, but I've retained the main principle.

   'I had a fascinating summer working with Joseph Szigeti. He had a way of bringing more than the anual sense to bear on one's musical perception. For instance, when I played the Debussy Sonata, he would ask me to try to visualize images when I play, or to try to taste the sweet or sour quality in a modulation. And he had wonderfully pure, artistic intonation. My training had been somewhat fragmented. I found myself gradually putting together the pieces of a puzzle without yet knowing what the whole was intended to look like. Szigeti's influence was invaluable in helping me to understand a solo in relation to the entire score. I remember his asking me to play from memory important voices in the orchestra at a certain point in a concerto. I couldn't do it, and I was so embarrassed that I burst into tears. He exclaimed, "And you call yourself a musician!" and I said, "No, I don't call myself a musician."

   'I've taken Szigeti's advice to heart. When, on my first tour, I played the Brahms D minor Sonata, I really didn't know what it was all about. I had just tried to play the piece beautifully, without truly understanding the relationship of the violin to the piano, the harmonic structure, the way the form develops. It takes much time to understand such a piece. After 15 years I realised, "Ah, this is what it's all about." Interpretation is unlimited. Playing the Beethoven Concerto at different periods of one's life is like reading Shakespeare when you're twenty, thirty, forty or fifty. There are always new meaning. Understanding the score helps in another way too. There are concertos, such as the Beethoven or Brahms, where you must stand on the stage for five minutes before the solo entrance. People ask me if I'm terrified of this. I used to be, but when I began to study the orchestral score and examine how the composer builds his musical structure, I began to lose my fear, and just listen with fascination to the orchestra. When playing a concerto, if you only concentrate on your own part, you don't have ground to stand on, and you can indeed be terrified. When performing twentieth century music in particular - Bartok, Stravinsky, Berg, Walton - one absolutely has to know the score.

   'Nowadays many musicians do look closely at the score - even to the extent of worrying if a dot was left by a fly or by the composer. There's a danger of becoming almost too obsessed. This can go to extremes, like being tied to the metronome. The result is a lack of sufficient sense of character. Gidon Kremer is an ideal player; he brings a strong personal character to his playing, but nonetheless follows the score faithfully.'

   I commented on the sense of chamber music Kyung-Wha Chung communicates when playing a concerto. 'Much depends on the rapport you can establish with the orchestra. Unless you know the musicians well, it's very difficult to create in one rehearsal the sort of texture that's needed. One hopes that the chemistry with the orchestra will be right so that you can work positively. On occasion I've been quite stubborn. I'm much too straightforward, and I've tended to be very outspoken with the musicians and conductors. I was obsessed with certain ideas as to what had to be. Now I'm going through a different phase. I'm trying to achieve the results by being more diplomatic. I'm trying to be more in harmony with everybody, and still create something of my own. It's rare and exhilarating when you find total rapport with a conductor and orchestra. I had such an experience when playing the Beethoven concerto with Klaus Tennstedt and the Chicago Symphony. The textures of the orchestra, the layers of the dynamics, and the character of the sound were ideally conceived. I didn't find myself in the awkward position of having to make suggestions to the players; I didn't have to open my mouth. It was an incredible joy in making music.'

   In 1984 Kyung-Wha married Geoffrey Legget, and now lives with her husband in England. 'Geoffrey is a businessman - but he has a great love for music, opera in particular. I'm happy that he is not a professional musician. Two musicians may not always be best for each other. Geoffrey sympathizes with the hardships I go through in giving concerts, but, as he doesn't actually experience them himself, he provides a sense of calm, of balance.' The Leggetts now have two children. 'For a woman, to give birth to a child is a most cherished experience. Until four or five years ago I just concentrated on myself, my music, and my career. Now much of my emotional energy goes towards my family. In fact it's now nearly unbearable to be alone on concert tours. I don't know how I did it before. I could only have managed it because I've always been very close to all the members of my family, and I get tremendous support from them. It was horrible to always have to travel by myself. But I never liked to admit how hard it was; I thought it was useless to complain, as it was part of the profession.'

   Given her new obligations, does she find adequate time for practice? 'Not as I used to. When I studied with Galamian I worked eight or nine hours a day. I needed that time to assimilate all the repertoire I wanted to learn. At Meadowmount we were obliged to practise five hours: in the morning from 8.00 to 12.00, and in the evening from 5.00 to 6.00. Galamian would check on us personally. In the afternoon I would have a chamber music rehearsal, and after dinner I would again practise for myself. I was playing all day long, and I loved it. One of the difficulties in giving many concerts is the lack of adequate time for practice. You have to fit in an hour here, an hour there. Now that I travel somewhat less, I can practise more regularly. But I have more personal responsibilities and less energy. I've therefore had to learn to save my energy when working, to be as economical as possible. When you're a teenager you have a boundless amount of physical drive. But now when I practise four hours, I'm completely worn out. I try to take a break after two hours.'

   We touched upon some of the characteristics of Oriental musicians in their approach to Western music. 'One can make a few general observations, keeping in mind that there are exceptions to every rule. It's sometines said, with a measure of truth, that the Korean people can be individually interesting but have difficulty mingling together, whereas the Japanese are successful at forming ensembles. Japan has produced a high standard of orchestra. The Korean and Chinese temperaments are rather similar in tending to be open and extroverted. Japanese psychology is perhaps influenced by its island setting. The emotions are very intense but often bottled up. Having said this, I must add that Japan has become a great centre of European music, and has produced many outstanding players. Sometimes there are misunderstandings, such as undervaluing the role of "an accompaniment" in a concerto. Once when I played with a Japanese orchestra, despite the fact that the players were giving their best, all the accompaniment figures sounded lifeless. I couldn't understand why it was so terribly uninteresting; there was no cushion to the sound. Then I noticed that, aside from the tutti passages, the players weren't using any vibrato at all. I insisted that they do it - and in five minutes they were exhausted, because they had never vibrated so much in their lives. One sometimes finds the same among Korean orchestras' For Kyung-Wha Chung, variety in tone colour is the essence of interpretation. 'You have to have a clear conception of what you want. You can be completely wrong, but at least it's a conception. As Szigeti taught, there are colours everywhere in music, and every piece has its own atmosphere. Take the beginning of the Schumann A minor sonata. The colour is tangible; there's a melancholy - something like autumn, but with a tumultuous undercurrent. After all, everything is related to nature; all the composers worked with nature, and nature is filled with every kind of colour. Each player has his own way of gauging the intensities, but every sensitive musician will somehow translate these colours into sounds. Nature is so beautiful as almost to be unreal. We are here to appreciate it, to breathe in its beauties, to give reverence to it. But it also has its terrifying side, a dramatic side. When, as a child, I played the Mozart D major Concerto, it seemed so beautiful that I felt Mozart was an angel. But when I later played his G minor Quintet or his Sinfonia Concertante, I realized that Mozart's music has so much sorrow, so much drama. And when I got to know his operas I realized that this man not only expresses untouchable beauty, but that every life force is within him, To touch nature in all its aspects - that is our goal.

   'If you let your imagination run, it's quite remarkable what you can see. Life is full of fantasy. Music-making is full of fantasy; it's make-believe. When one hears a Schubert song, even if one doesn't understand the German text, one can sense the mood; the music transmits a particular emotional vibration. It makes you feel joyful, sad, agitated. I once had to play a certain contemporary work- I won't name the composer - but I said to myself, "Oh my God - this music is almost dead." In any case, learning a new piece is a painful process for me. And to spend months and months with that kind of music was absolute torture. Of course, there are many 20th-century composers whose music I greatly admire: Berg, Walton, Messiaen... perhaps I feel closest to Bartok; he touches earth and nature with such a strength. The string quartets are masterpieces. It's marvellous to see his development, somewhat like Beethoven's, from the first to the sixth quartet, or throughout his violin works, culminating in the Solo Sonata.'

   Normally I find myself somewhat put off when a player moves a great deal. With Kyung-Wha Chung I make an exception. When she plays, her whole body is involved in the process, not unlike a dancer. Her movements seem instinctively true, and born out of the music itself. 'As a child I used to move very freely. I felt every note with maximum intensity. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, and I would express this in my movements. Later I tried to correct this habit by not moving at all, but then I felt as if I were in a cage. Little by little I found the way to keep things in proportion. Essentially, though, I don't try to analyse my movements. I know that I tend to bend down; that's because I want a direct contact with my fellow musicians. Galamian used to hate seeing the violin held low. When I played for the Leventritt Competition I held my violin very high, and managed to look quite presentable.'

   Kyung-Wha Chung's search for meaning in music has been nourished by her vocation for evolving inwardly. 'There have been many stages in my development. Usually progress has been followed by self-doubt, which in turn acts as an incentive for further progress. When you're young you feel that you have to play to prove yourself, and the audience is the main source of your inspiration. In time, you may perhaps withdraw into yourself, but that also doesn't give a complete answer. Then finally it becomes spiritual. One begins to feel that God does exist. And then everything is clearly explainable. If you have faith, then all that you create is related to it. How do you find that faith? I can't say. It just came into me. All the struggle I went through, all the influences helped me - but there is no clear explanation. I've learned that the ego isn't the determining factor. Yes, the profession is so fragile, and you're so highly strung that you need your ego to withstand the strain. But the music comes from a deeper source. You must let the music speak through you, and experience it completely. There is no short cut to musical integrity. You must do it honestly.'

   Kyung-Wha Chung is wholly committed to every work she performs. 'But,' she asks modestly, 'aren't we all committed, one way or the other?' It's rare that we are, and her playing therefore moves us all the more.

[Steinway&Sons]

이 글에서 드디어 정샘의 스승들에 관한 자세한 이야기가 나오네요! Galamian과 Szigeti 한테 무엇을 배웠는지는 '열 아홉 살 적부터 오늘까지' 글에 잘 나타나 있는데, Szymon Goldberg와 Josef Gingold 한테 무엇을 배웠는지는 처음 읽는 것 같아요. Galamian 한테서는 활을, Szigeti 한테서는 소리를, Goldberg 한테서는 콘트롤을, Gingold 한테서는 비브라토를 배웠다고 하면 되겠네요.

[Steinway&Sons]

그리고 아랫글에서 정샘이 시게티한테 배우면서 자신이 음악에 대해 모르는 것이 너무 많음을 깨닫고 눈물까지 흘렸다고 했는데, 그 구체적인 장면이 이 글에 나타나네요. 특정 부분에서의 오케스트라 멜로디를 연주해 보라고 했다니, 시게티 의외로 무서웠네요. ㅎㅎ

[레클로슈]

스크롤의 압박 + 해석의 압박 = 두통 ;;

[Steinway&Sons]

스크롤 내리면서 읽기 힘드시면 프린트 해서 읽으세요. 저도 화면으로 긴 글 읽으려면 눈이 아파서 그냥 프린트 해서 읽거든요. 귀찮다고 안 읽지 마시고 꼭 읽으세요.. ^^

[Steinway&Sons]

그나저나 저는 여기서 또 정샘께서 Mozart G minor Quintet과 Sinfonia Concertante를 연주하셨다는 사실을 알고는, 들어 보고 싶지만 못 듣는 마음 속의 아쉬움이 하나 더 생기게 생겼어요.. ㅜ.ㅜ

[chul]

산 넘어 산이네요.

[yang]

정선생님이 데뷔 초기에 비올리스트 프림로즈와 모짜르트 협주 교향곡을 연주했어요.