ON THE VIOLA: Eric Shumsky and Nicaraguan orphan. (Courtesy of Eric Shumsky)
These days I’m somewhat of a musical peace corps worker, whether at the conservatory of Managua as an honorary professor or privately with interested musicians. I find use in a country where music of the Western tradition has shallow roots.
Through the Rotary Clubs from America and other generous supporters, life at the orphanage has become much better.
There was a lovely party thrown for the kids—about 40 of them. They were all thrilled with the gifts given to them, the food, and drinks. Their smiling faces radiated far more sunlight than the reality of their dire lives.
But now they were to be seated for a special concert. A viola! What is a viola? Many had never even seen a violin, so I could make no comparisons to other stringed instruments such as which is larger or lower in pitch; nor could I use typical jokes that string players rely on in the West.
I addressed them in my broken Spanish, seated as they were with some on the floor and some on windowsills, and told them that they were about to hear a concert of J.S. Bach—possibly the greatest composer who ever lived!
I could hardly hear myself talking. They were outrageously loud and still partying.
I did not want to be a snob and stop their fun, but Old Man Bach deserves attention if anyone does. So I gave the young group a little history about Bach, and my translator helped me tell them Bach had 13 children. They laughed for a solid minute! (I never realized how crazy that sounds.)
They quieted down a bit, and I tuned up and finally started the Prelude of the G Major suite. This piece was originally for the cello but is much better on the viola, as all violists know.
I made it through the development of the first movement, but at the end of the movement the talking and screams were hardly softer. I went on to the next movement wondering if I should even continue. Maybe they hated it.
Once again I asked them to settle down, despite, again, the temptation to think: "They had so little. Why should I stop their joy—let them be and talk!"
Instead, I demanded they really be silent and listen for just 20 minutes. Little by little the voices quieted. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed kids tuning in and enjoying what they were hearing.
By the time I made it to the sixth movement, the last movement of the suite—an earthy gigue (a lively Baroque jig) that only Bach knew how to weave—the kids were completely silent, and I was concentrating fully and coming to the very end. As I lifted the bow off the string of the final note, I heard a cheering crowd—a crowd that wasn’t even listening 15 minutes earlier. They were so excited, they were jumping up and down.
Since they watched this big guy scraping the bow back and forth in a pretty nice way, I thought some might be interested to hear how this most neglected of the bowed-violin family is played. I asked if any in the audience wanted to play an open string or two. I was almost knocked over with enthusiasm from at least 75 percent of the kids. They were thrilled and cheered on their friends as each one stepped up to surmount the beast with four strings held by the big guy with a grin on his face.
One by one with viola in hand, I let each child (ages 7-20) have a try. When they couldn't even hold the instrument, I supported it and played it with their hands on top of mine in such a way that they felt as though they were producing the sounds. They really wanted to learn and loved the whole idea.
What a moving experience! What a wonderful way for the music, which is in their blood, to find its expression. I promised I would return with fiddles and strings and bows.
Sure, when I left, the car got stuck on the muddy washed-out road. But afterward, as the sounds of the tropical birds faded away, my heart filled with hope.
Despite the difficulties posed by politics, despite the lack of formal education, despite malnutrition and disease, Central Americans have—and perhaps all people do—a natural capacity for art-making. This capacity is already clear in their folk art, sculpture, and poetry, which is all filled with a pathos experienced firsthand. Perhaps classical music, too, can offer another bridge to express what words rarely can.
I guess I learned more from that viola Bach concert than the audience did. I wasn't playing in Carnegie Hall for knowledgeable audiences, for critics with their pens warmed up to roast. But maybe this concert was more important. In 10 years, perhaps one of these children will play for me and move me to tears.
If readers would like to contribute to purchasing instruments, music, bows, and supplies to support further trips to the orphanage, please contact Eric Shumsky.
Eric Shumsky is a concert voilist. For more information, see www.shumskymusic.com.
