Why Art Matters

A colleague sent me the “Welcome Address to Freshman Parents” delivered by Karl Paulnack, pianist and director of music division at Boston Conservatory. I found Mr. Paulnack’s words to be quite inspiring and wanted to share them with everyone here.

~ Lynn

One of my parents’ deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn’t be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother’s remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school-she said, ‘You’re WASTING your SAT scores.’ On some level, think, my parents were not sure themselves what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they LOVED music, they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren’t really clear about its function. So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the ‘arts and entertainment’ section of the newspaper, and serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it’s the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music and how it works.

The first people to understand how music really works were the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you; the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works.

One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the Quartet for the End of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany in a cattle car and imprisoned in a concentration camp.

He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose. There were three other musicians in the camp, a cellist, a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire.

Given what we have since learned about life in the concentration camps, why would anyone in his right mind waste time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture-why would anyone bother with music? And yet-from the camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art; it wasn’t just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art. Why? Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce, without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival; art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, “I am alive, and my life has meaning.”

On September 12, 2001 I was a resident of Manhattan. That morning I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 AM to practice routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and took my hands off the keys. And I sat there and thought, does this even matter? Isn’t this completely irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, pointless. Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost.

And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day. At least in my neighborhood, we didn’t shoot hoops or play Scrabble. We didn’t play cards to pass the time, we didn’t watch TV, we didn’t shop, we most certainly did not go to the mall. The first organized activity that I saw in New York, that same day,was singing. People sang. People sang around fire houses, people sang ‘We Shall Overcome’. Lots of people sang America the Beautiful. The first organized public event that I remember was the Brahms Requiem, later that week, at Lincoln Center, with the New York Philharmonic. The first organized public expression of grief, our first communal response to that historic event, was a concert. That was the beginning of a sense that life might go on. The US Military secured the airspace, but recovery was led by the arts, and by music in particular, that very night.

From these two experiences, I have come to understand that music is not art of “arts and entertainment” as the newspaper section would have us believe. It’s not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers of our budgets, not a plaything or an amusement or a pass time. Music is a basic need of human survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we can’t with our minds.

Some of you may know Samuel Barber’s heart wrenchingly beautiful piece Adagio for Strings. If you don’t know it by that name, then some of you may know it as the background music which accompanied the Oliver Stone movie Platoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If you know that piece of music either way, you know it has the ability to crack your heart open like a walnut; it can make you cry over sadness you didn’t know you had. Music can slip beneath our conscious reality to get at what’s really going on inside us the way a good therapist does.

I bet that you have never been to a wedding where there was absolutely no music. There might have been only a little music, there might have been some really bad music, but I bet you there was some music. And something very predictable happens at weddings -people get all pent up with all kinds of emotions, and then there’s some musical moment where the action of the wedding stops and someone sings or plays the flute or something. And even if the music is lame, even if the quality isn’t good, predictably 30 or 40 percent of the people who are going to cry at a wedding cry a couple of moments after the music starts. Why? The Greeks. Music allows us to move around those big invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides so that we can express what we feel even when we can’t talk about it. Can you imagine watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the dialogue but no music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the right moment in ET so that all the softies in the audience start crying at exactly the same moment? I guarantee you if you showed the movie with the music stripped out, it wouldn’t happen that way. The Greeks: Music is the understanding of the relationship between invisible internal objects.

I’ll give you one more example, the story of the most important concert of my life. I must tell you I have played a little less than a thousand concerts in my life so far. I have played in places that I thought were important. I like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris; it made me very happy to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have played for people I thought were important; music critics of major newspapers, foreign heads of state. The most important concert of my entire life took place in a nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years ago.

I was playing with a very dear friend of mine who is a violinist. We began, as we often do, with Aaron Copland’s Sonata, which was written during World War II and dedicated to a young friend of Copland’s, a young pilot who was shot down during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about the pieces we are going to play rather than providing them with written program notes. But in this case, because we began the concert with this piece, we decided to talk about the piece later in the program and to just come out and play the music without explanation.

Midway through the piece, an elderly man seated in a wheelchair near the front of the concert hall began to weep. This man, whom I later met, was clearly a soldier-even in his 70′s, it was clear from his buzz-cut hair, square jaw and general demeanor that he had spent a good deal of his life in the military. I thought it a little bit odd that someone would be moved to tears by that particular movement of that particular piece, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve heard crying in a concert and we went on with the concert and finished the piece.

When we came out to play the next piece on the program, we decided to talk about both the first and second pieces, and we described the circumstances in which the Copland was written and mentioned its dedication to a downed pilot. The man in the front of the audience became so disturbed that he had to leave the auditorium. I honestly figured that we would not see him again, but he did come backstage afterwards, tears and all, to explain himself.

What he told us was this: ‘During World War II, I was a pilot, and I was in an aerial combat situation where one of my team’s planes was hit. I watched my friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the Japanese planes which had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the parachute chords so as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched my friend drop away into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have not thought about this for many years, but during that first piece of music you played, this memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I was reliving it. I didn’t understand why this was happening, why now, but then when you came out to explain that this piece of music was written to commemorate a lost pilot, it was a little more than I could handle. How does the music do that?

How did it find those feelings and those memories in me?’ Remember the Greeks: music is the study of invisible relationships between internal objects. This concert in Fargo was the most important work I have ever done. For me to play for this old soldier and help him connect, somehow, with Aaron Copland, and to connect their memories of their lost friends, to help him remember and mourn his friend, this is my work. This is why music matters.

What follows is part of the talk I will give to this year’s freshman class when I welcome them a few days from now. The responsibility I will charge your sons and daughters with is this: ‘If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you’d take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you’re going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft. You’re not here to become an entertainer, and you don’t have to sell yourself. The truth is you don’t have anything to sell; being a musician isn’t about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevies. I’m not an entertainer; I’m a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You’re here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well.

Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don’t expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that’s what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives.

21 Responses to Why Art Matters

  1. Rob Weir December 18, 2009 at 11:56 am #

    Wow, Lynn. What a terrific story and collection of thoughts from Mr. Paulnack. Thanks very much for sharing this. It’s certainly making the rounds amongst my fellow musicians of the San Francisco Symphony. (I’m a bassoonist)
    Seasons greetings to you.

    Rob Weir

  2. lynn harrell December 18, 2009 at 9:45 pm #

    Dear Rob:
    Yes , a friend sent it to me . It is remarkable, and so true! The Greeks were right! send it on, and give my regards to Rufus Olivier ,if your paths cross… Were you there during Lifschey’s years? (one of my biggest influences ! ) Lynn

    • Robert January 27, 2010 at 1:52 pm #

      Dear Lynn,

      Thank you so much for your postings.

      Lynn, the greatest member of SFS I ever heard was Mark Lifschey, I have never heard another voice like his, or believe I ever will.

      Peace,

      Robert

      • Lynnharrell March 22, 2010 at 7:07 am #

        Marc was one of my strongest influences- a phenomenal artist his solos in my fathers last recording of 2 Bach cantatas stand as the most profound instument playing of all time..

      • lynn harrell November 1, 2010 at 8:46 pm #

        Thank you! Marc still is teaching me things- I ALWAYS hear something new in his work. I just received from Arkiv music the 8th and 9th symphonies of Schubert with CO and Szell. I haven’t studied those performances in years! Lynn

      • Lynn Harrell December 22, 2010 at 4:21 pm #

        Thank you Robert;

        Other than Heifetz’s influence on my string playing, my greatest teacher and mentor was Marc. Musically speaking I think he was the greatest artist I have ever heard. I have studied what he does with rhythm, color , sound, style and breath for nearly 40 years and I haven’t reached the limit yet! How lucky we are to have been witness to such communication!

      • Lynn Harrell November 23, 2013 at 1:27 am #

        I go back over and over to Marc’s playing and musicianship. I have learned an Immense amount from him, his artistry , discipline etc. I miss him every day!

  3. Jayne December 25, 2009 at 8:55 am #

    This is a truly amazing piece. I read it on Christmas Day, which seems so perfect. Thank you for sharing it with us.
    Jayne…an amateur but passionate cellist

  4. Stephanie Rzewnicki December 25, 2009 at 4:01 pm #

    Thank you Lynn and Jane! I will share this with my friends and my students. Merry Christmas from Columbus!
    ~Steph

  5. Karl Paulnack December 28, 2009 at 11:05 am #

    Dear Lynn,

    We are distantly related–sort of. My teacher, Brooks Smith, was one of the many collaborating pianists you have performed with during your distinguished career, and I still remember, from our lessons at USC together, how much he esteemed you and how he valued your collaborations together.

    Let me say how honored I am that you chose to post my parents’ talk on your website. Without ever having met you, you have been one of my teachers for many years now, as is so often the case in the magical and mysterious way in which we hand music down from one generation to the next.

    I wish you well, and I thank you for your many contributions to our art.

    Sincerely,

    Karl Paulnack

    • lynn harrell November 1, 2010 at 8:41 pm #

      Karl!
      I’ve been meaning to be in contact with you! Thank you for your note. I see you are still at Boston university. Is , was Leslie Parnas on your faculty? I am coming to Boston in November to play the schubert Quintet with the Tokyo quartet. Any chance to meet then? Maybe I could give a master class for your students?! Yours warmly, Lynn Harrell

  6. Anne Marie Griffin January 22, 2010 at 7:03 am #

    Dear Lynn,
    Our public library in Rochester MN posted your blog on their Facebook page. Since we are dealing with budget cuts and financial challenges for all sorts of public and private organizations it was especially heartwarming to read. I posted a couple of quotes on my page and hope that others will read the speech and be moved to act in support of arts organizations. I believe that our humanity will depend on it.

    Thank you!

    Anne Marie

  7. Linda Bi March 27, 2010 at 1:53 am #

    Dear Mr. Harrell,

    I am Linda Bi from Xinghai Concert Hall, Guangzhou, China, where you will perform with Guangzhou Symphony Orchestra, in May 22, 2010. I am working on the promotion for your concert.

    We are really look forward to your great performance.

    I am very glad to find your blog and i Learn a lot.
    Is it possible for me to write some questions here for better promotion?

    thank you very much!

    Linda Bi

  8. Paula Lifschey December 29, 2010 at 8:57 pm #

    Dear Lynn,
    I am (was) Marc Lifschey’s wife. I came across this website tonight and loved the article on Why Art Matters, but also your comments about Marc. Reassuring to know he is remembered!
    I am told that you live in LA–my son lives there so I visit him from time to time and would enjoy meeting you, if you are so inclined!I’m planning to come down in March to hear Martha Argerich (hopefully she’ll show up).

    All the best,
    Paula Lifschey

  9. Noah Lifschey January 2, 2011 at 3:48 pm #

    Hi Lynn,

    My mom turned me on to your post here, and it’s really fantastic to see such compliments of my dad’s playing (as well as the post itself). When I was growing up I had little to no interest in classical music — I was into rock and pop and jazz — so unfortunately I didn’t get to experience his playing live from a fully appreciative position (also due to his unbelievable humility — I actually had no idea how famous he was until a college professor asked me if I was his son!). Luckily, as an adult, I came around.

    Cheers,
    Noah Lifschey

    • lynn Harrell February 3, 2011 at 7:13 am #

      Dear Noah:
      What a great treat and surprise your comment came has given me! First off, my young son (4) is named Noah with the middle name Elliot! But I would love to get to know you some and your Mom, too. Helen Nightengale my wife, a violinist, and Hanna ,our daughter, (6) live in Santa Monica. Your dad is perhaps my greatest influence along with Heifetz and Toscanini. Both when we worked together in Cleveland and a bit in San Francisco and through all the years thousands of times listening to his playing on CD’s over and over always hearing something new and vital.

      I gotta run; children are up-school day etc.- All best , to be continued

      • Paula Lifschey February 5, 2011 at 9:13 pm #

        Hi Lynn,
        Just saw your reply to Noah. I’ll be in LA March 16-20. Maybe we can get together if you will be in town.
        Check out http://www.marclifschey.com
        Several musicians ordered the Bach Cantata CD via that.
        Paula

  10. MT_Cellist February 2, 2011 at 2:02 pm #

    Dear Lynn,

    I just watched your performance of the Beethoven triple concerto and was quite moved by your playing. I am scheduled to perform the Beethoven in February 2011 in Billings, MT. I am hoping you might be able to share some ideas (fingerings, bowings, etc.) with me.

    Any help would be greatly appreciated.

    David Heinzen

    • MT_Cellist February 2, 2011 at 2:03 pm #

      Oops,

      February 2012 that is.

      David

  11. Robert Hubbard June 16, 2011 at 9:05 pm #

    Hi, Lynn,

    I have listened to your recordings with great pleasure for years. They provide much of the musical foundation of my formative years – which are still continuing…

    I found the link to your blog on Patty Mitchell’s ‘oboeinsight’ blog in reference to your remarks on Marc Lifschey.

    During my years at the San Francisco Conservatory I had the good fortune to sub in the SF Symphony frequently and sit next to Marc. Those were the best lessons I ever had: real life, real time performance sitting at the Master’s knee. He was the most profound musical influence in my life. Thanks for your further commentary about this amazing musician. And for your own contributions to this shared calling.

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