I had the great fortune of working with both of these great men. In my beginning career as an orchestral musician, Stravinsky came to conduct and record with the Cleveland Orchestra. I, somewhat shyly, went up to him to introduce myself and was prepared to follow up with a few minor questions about the music we were recording.

When I said my name and that I was Mack Harrell’s son he beamed with pleasure because only about 10 years earlier he recorded The Rake’s Progress with my father singing the role of Nick Shadow. Although prepared by Fritz Reiner, Stravinsky conducted the opera for the recording.

I have often thought if Piatigorsky had the personality of Rostropovich, we would indeed have a concerto by Stravinsky. He was very insistent about getting Stravinsky to write a concerto, and even went so far as to give Stravinsky a blank check. Stravinsky replied saying “You, Grisha, play the cello, a vrah sounding instrument, and I am a composer that writes, one might say, ‘ping’ music.” So, aside from Piatigorsky transcribing the Pulcinella music for cello and piano, he never did write for the cello.

Henri Dutilleux was a different story in that his music was altogether a manifestation of an inner need for expression. His interest in French music of the past and why it sounds distinctly different from Austrian or German music along with his interest in French writers and poets influenced everything he wrote.

I remember talking to him about a place in his string quartet, Ainsi la Nuit, that it reminded me of a moment in the string quintet of Schubert. It had the same idea of the viola and cello playing a lyrical phrase an octave apart but the cello on top and the viola underneath; it was so striking, just as striking in 1828 as from our time. Henri just smiled knowingly. He obviously had, like the vanishing generations of composers who very diligently studied the great music that had come before, studied late Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert, as well as the more recent Debussy and Ravel from that time.

I remember crossing paths with Dutilleux on a number of occasions. While still in Cleveland, he came to the world premiere of Metaboles; the music was such high quality that it became a very special occasion. Years later, in Paris when I was playing the Schumann concerto, I was so surprised and delighted that he had come to hear me.

It was shortly after that I was asked to perform his Tout en Monde Lointain in New York and Philadelphia. I came gradually to recognize that this work is not only one of the top five greatest works for the cello in the last 100 years but that it simply transcends the cello and is a work as important to the history of the greatest music; right alongside Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.

My understanding of music, the cello, and poetry was transformed from this study. I had an opportunity to do the work a number of times with him in attendance. Each time, he would lovingly suggest this or that which would make it more meaningful, authentic, and communicative.

There are times in one’s life that have a lasting, indelible impression on development, maturation, and perception. I have been so very fortunate to have had contact with a number of great men such as Dutilleux. These experiences have been life changing ones for me, simply put; I am a better musician, and a better person, because of these moments. Thank you, Henri.

Starting out youthful, majestic, and powerful then maturing into a calm regal beneficence and culminating in the final blaring moments of anger and frustration at fate and how it has robbed us of those things that are most dear: a life, a person, his accomplishments, his humor, warmth, intelligence, and so much more.

So, during the performance I was able to bring to the surface my long forgotten memories of Janos Starker:

My very first cello record purchased by my father whose usual words to me in a store were “put it down son, before you break it.”  But this time was different, I answered back saying “look dad, here’s a record of someone playing the Elegie of Faure which my cello teacher has just assigned me!” So my dad bought the record.

The record also had the Dvorak concerto on it and I became a fan. Of course, it was one of Janos’ recordings and dad said that he knew Mr. Starker at the Metropolitan opera where he had been principal cellist before going to Chicago to be principal cellist of that orchestra.

Over the next half dozen years I heard Mr. Starker play a few times, but avidly collected his recordings. His performances of the Bach cello suites impressed me as being so revolutionary. They were clean, pure, and without exaggeration; such a change in approach from the leading exponent of Bach playing of the time, Pablo Casals.

All this was going through my mind while I played the Dvorak in Detroit. The work itself is, for sure, about loss, disillusionment and sadness but by the time it was over and Leonard Slatkin asked me to play something in Janos’ memory, I was already quite emotional.

For me, the 6th Bach Sarabande was the most inspirational work from Janos’ many recordings of the cello suites. I started to play and I was suddenly gripped by such a feeling of warmth towards him and what he represented, that it was indeed almost impossible to perform while simultaneously contemplating his contribution to the cello, to Bach performance, to teaching, and to his family.

It will remain with me the rest of my life. Thank you Janos.

As an added bonus to the article, they came up with the terrific idea of attaching a tiny video camera to my cello case in order to capture what Mr. Cello sees during a typical airport visit. In this instance, I was on my way to Boston to premier Augusta Read Thomas’ Cello Concerto No. 3 with the Boston Symphony Orchestra.  

Although security restrictions prevented the camera from capturing anything past the security checkpoints, it did manage to get some good footage. Here’s the entire Wall Street Journal segment with some of the Cello Cam video:

You can also read Mr. McCartney’s excellent article at the paper’s website.

1966 Schumann cello concerto; my debut solo with the Cleveland Orchestra and George Szell conducting.

Monty began his life in Venice in 1720 but my path first crossed his in 1962 at Jacques Francais Luthier shop in New York on West 57th Street. I was completely smitten with it but they let me try it out in different acoustical environments and to try it under concert conditions because at that time, I was playing in the Cleveland Orchestra and a great deal of chamber and solo work.

It remember it as if it happened yesterday, I admired its tonal properties and appreciated its response more and more during this trial phase. At that time, it hadn’t been played for awhile so it needed time to find its voice again, not to mention requiring quite a bit of adjustment to my approach. What I learned early on is an instrument of great character needs a strong personality in its player to bring out the best of its voice and resonance.

Through the clarity of hindsight, this instrument is very different than the one I fell in love with over 50 years ago. With age came the ability to learn how to get so much more color and variety from it. Having regular performance time has helped it mature somewhat (50 years is 50 years!), but with a lifespan measured in centuries instead of decades, it’s impossible to know exactly how much.

But it has been my companion for many things in my career; too many to put together any sort of comprehensive list but a few items that stand out for me are…

• my first job in the Cleveland Orchestra as sixth cellist, then to principal after two years, and six more years of self study and learning from the great musicians around me in that orchestra.
• my early friendship with James Levine as conductor of the student orchestra at the Cleveland Institute of Music.
• my first performances of the Dvorak Cello Concerto and Strauss’s Don Quixote.
• my first Cleveland recital in which Victor Babin of Vronsky and Babin fame, joined me in the Cleveland premiere of his Variations on a theme by Henry Purcell.
• a striking and virtuosic piece written for Nikolai Grauden, with whom I studied as a boy in Aspen during the summers 1955-59.

With Kurt Sanderling and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in the mid 80′s playing the Shostakovich Second Cello Concerto.

And then there’s the world premiers with the Montagnana; the Sonatas for solo cello by Klaus Roy, Donald Erb, Marcel Dick, Tobias Picker, Marc Neikrug, and David Crumb; concertos by Erb, Benjamin Lees, and Stephen Paulus plus the first LA performance of Lutoslawski’s concerto with the composer conducting.

For longer than I can recall, this March in Boston will be the first time I’ll use an instrument other than the Montagnana for the premier of Augusta Reed Thomas’s Phoenix Rising.

This was a great find in 1962 and I can say with a level of absolute confidence built on having unusual access to playing dozens of world class cellos, Montagnanas, Strads, Gofrillers, Tecchlers, Gaglianos, Serafin, and a wonderful Tononi, I feel blessed that I came across this great cello. After all, in 1962 I was still a teenager and having just lost my parents, just starting my professional career and I couldn’t quite afford the steep price of $25,000! To this day, I’m grateful that the Cleveland Orchestra loaned me $2,000 in order to not miss the extraordinary opportunity.

Thank God because this instrument helped me find my voice and sound.

Over time, musicians become one with our instrument partner and so it happened with this cello and me. I changed it and it unquestionably changed me. Now, I want to have a hand in seeing it go to another musician so to that end, I have decided to sell it directly so as to help another musician find his/her voice and true soul in music. Fare thee well dear friend!

Encore: I thought it would be nice to share more than a just a few photos of the cello over the years from my personal colelction.

The Montagnana and me in 2010 during a recording session with friend Jessye Norman.

His larger than life personality and relaxed brilliance in his work always came through. For a compelling musical mentor and conductor to achieve the lofty ideals that he embodied so gracefully was unique. James was always there for you, in the music, in the performance, and in being together and getting to know each other more and more deeply over mutual experiences and time.

So relaxed and friendly, his brilliance never drew attention to itself. There are more renowned conductors of complicated works like Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, but his vision of this work was just as marvelous and complete as any I have heard.

I do and will miss him deeply and greatly. The most happy and wonderful experiences in music I lived with him over and over. How do you replace that?