On April 28th, the legendary cellist, Janos Starker, passed away. He made such an incredible impact on this world and he will be missed and remembered by thousands. So many of us are eternally grateful for the gifts he shared as a player, as a teacher, and as a mentor. I was deeply upset to hear of his passing, and I began writing as I reflected back on my studies with Mr. Starker. Below is an article that I wrote on April 30th. It will be published in the upcoming edition of the American Suzuki Journal.
Studio
155: Remembering Janos Starker, the Teacher.
Some years ago, I found myself standing awkwardly outside of
Janos Starker’s studio, room 155, at Indiana University. Completely awestruck and intimidated by this
musical powerhouse, I nervously pressed my ear to the door. It was the start of Mr. Starker’s teaching
day, so I had anticipated that he’d be working with a student and I could
easily slip in to observe the lesson. When I didn’t hear anything, I felt a wave of
anxiety as I realized that he could come around the corner any second and see
me compromised with my head glued to his door.
I quickly stood back and opened the door. Much to my surprise, his student had not
arrived yet and I found myself alone with the legendary, larger-than-life Janos
Starker! While Mr. Starker was actually
quite personable and funny – hysterical, really – I couldn’t think of a harder
task than making small talk with someone I revered and respected so much. In my mind, he was the authority on cello, and he may as well have been some kind of
demigod. I managed to muster up a meek
“hello,” and I quickly found a seat. We
were alone for a second or two as he sorted mail from his swivel armchair, and
in that moment, I remember looking at a picture of David Popper that hung on
the mustard-colored wall. I thought of
Starker’s incredible CD, Romantic Cello
Favorites: A Tribute to Cellist/Composer David Popper, and as I was in the
middle of promising myself I’d start practicing more, his student arrived.
For those of us lucky enough to have a lesson or several lessons
in room 155, we have countless memories that we hold dear to our hearts.
For many of us, Mr. Starker was a teacher first and a player second. Of
course we will never forget his celebrated Grammy Award-winning recordings or
his hauntingly inspirational performances, but as he himself stated in a 2006
interview for Strings: “No matter how great the ovation is after a concert, the
people eventually sit down and stop applauding. But if you teach, you may
affect generations.” Fueled by his commitment to teaching, Mr.
Starker taught at Indiana University for more than 50 years, instructing hundreds
of young cellists. His work has had a
ripple effect, as his students have themselves become successful teachers who spread
Starker-inspired principles and philosophies of cello playing to their own
students. Surely all of us in the music
world are connected to Mr. Starker with far fewer than the proverbial six
degrees of separation.
There was something special about Mr. Starker’s daily routine as
a professor at Indiana University. At
12:30 on any given weekday, he would come into his office, hang his jacket on
the coat rack, and make his way over to his desk, checking to see who had been
penciled in as his afternoon “victims:” a nickname he affectionately gave his
students. He’d then proceed to teach
three students over the course of the afternoon, and we would gobble up every
word and suggestion as fast as our mortal brains could digest his teaching. At the end of his day, in a collegial and
loving spirit, Mr. Starker would usually visit with his cello colleagues. He’d say hello to Tsuyoshi Tsutsumi and
Emilio Colon, just a few doors down, and then make his way over to see Helga
Winold in Merrill Hall.
I think part of the specialness of this routine rested on Starker’s
open-studio policy, and the accessibility it provided students. Cellists – in fact, any IU student – knew
that for three hours, five days a week, we could always learn from a truly exceptional
player and teacher. Starker’s open-studio
policy followed a master-class model in that the student would prepare and play
through their entire piece before he gave any feedback. Some days there might just be one
or two other students in a lesson, but that was rare. More likely, there would be a small crowd
sitting just a few feet from your “hot seat” as you “entertained” the room.
In this respect, Mr. Starker’s teaching philosophy was pivotal
in fashioning a very unique environment.
He, alongside his colleagues, Helga Winold, Tsuyohsi Tsutsumi,
and Emilio Colon, created a place unlike anywhere else in the world. They encouraged collaborative learning, in
which studying with multiple cello teachers was not only tolerated, it was
encouraged! In fact, over the course of
my two degrees, I had the fortunate opportunity to study with all four of these
exceptional minds.
While there are many facets of Mr. Starker’s teaching I
appreciate, one of the unique challenges I faced was to meet his expectation of
bringing a new piece to every lesson. I believe this particular expectation
stemmed from a number of goals, one being his desire to foster experimentation. Mr. Starker encouraged his students to learn
various techniques in the repertoire and then discover how they could be
applied in different scenarios. While
this fast-paced and high-pressured approach proved to be difficult at times, I am
confident that it exponentially benefitted my work as a student and continues
to help me as a professional today.
Like so many of his other pupils, I think of Mr. Starker
daily. Often I hear his voice echoing phrases that he repeated during
lessons: “Be the beat.” “Not at the frog.” “Create excitement, don’t get
excited.” I will carry these reminders as well as his larger pedagogical
ideas with me for the rest of my teaching days.
As a teacher, I cherish the high standard he set for his students, and in
keeping with the goals set forth in studio 155, I will work to create the same
kind of drive and ambition in my own studio. It is impossible to acknowledge
everything that Mr. Starker did for me as an individual, and it’s even more of
a challenge to recognize the indispensable impact he had on the music
world. While there are several stories
of Starker’s brash or brazen demeanor, I knew a teacher who was truthful,
brilliant, humble, and warm. I knew a
man who wanted to make a difference and leave the world a better place. And that is exactly what he did. Thank you, Mr. Starker.
