Musicians say funny things. Much like many other specialized fields, there are words and phrases that hold entirely different meanings in our vernacular than they do in everyday English. If a string player tells you, “I am going to meet my maker,” they are far more likely referring to something equipment related than a rendezvous with The Almighty. Just a short while ago, for the first time in more than fifteen years, I met my maker.
I consider myself to be rather fortunate in that I managed to, relatively early on, find a viola that I truly love. Indeed there are many who, for one reason or another, spend years and years searching for the right instrument, and so I will always be grateful that, already in my twenties, I found mine. For two years, while pursuing my Master of Music degree at Juilliard, my principal teacher was Michael Tree. At the time, I was borrowing a beautiful, but rather “violinesque” (there’s more of that vernacular) 18th century Italian viola. Those of you who knew Michael are well aware of his affinity for large, deep sounding violas. For many years, he performed on a magnificent (and massive!) viola by the 18th century Venetian luthier, Domenico Busan and this is the instrument you will hear on most Guarneri String Quartet recordings. It is a spectacular viola and in Michael’s hands, there was nothing better.
A consummate gentleman, Michael was the model of respect and politeness. I can only imagine what he REALLY thought of my borrowed, soprano sounding, slightly larger than a violin, but nonetheless visually attractive viola. He didn’t outright tell me that I needed a different instrument – at least not at first. He knew that he had some time to work on me. It started with pointing out some small issues: the fingerboard was too narrow, the bridge was too thin, etc. Eventually, however, he cut to the chase and told me that I needed to be playing a viola that, “sounded like a viola.” He generally wasn’t one to bring his own instrument to lessons. This was usually because he tended to walk from his apartment on the East Side near the Guggenheim Museum all the way to Juilliard, which is not exactly just around the corner. Lugging a heavy case across Central Park is a bit much for even the most athletic violist. When he needed to demonstrate something in a lesson, which was often, he would simply use my viola. But occasionally our lessons would occur just before he was to have a rehearsal or play a concert and on these days, he would bring his viola (and would usually get a ride from his wife, Jani). The first time this happened, I was so excited to finally be able to see and hear this legendary Busan up close. He opened the case, reached for the instrument, and then my heart sank. Instead of the Busan, he pulled out a cutaway modern viola (this term, “cutaway”, is one we use to refer to a viola whose dimensions are reduced around the upper bouts, thus making it somewhat easier to play than a traditionally shaped instrument of the same length). What I had failed to realize is that for some time already, he had stopped playing his Venetian 17+ inch viola in order to downsize to a 17+ inch cutaway. Doesn’t seem like much of a downsize. After all, any viola north of 17 inches is large by any standard. But because of its slender shoulders, this new viola would be significantly easier to navigate than the Busan. Anyway, my disappointment was both misplaced and short lived because as soon as he tuned it, I struggled to believe the incredible voice that this instrument possessed was for real. I had never heard anything like it and to this day it remains one of the most profound and pivotal moments in my musical life. As it turned out, he chose this lesson to push harder about my own instrument needs. To prove his point, he handed me his viola and asked me to play something. I certainly wasn’t prepared for this, but hesitate I did not. It took merely a few seconds for me to fully understand just how correct he was. He assured me that there are many wonderful living instrument makers and he encouraged me to do some research to find a maker and instrument that I really loved. I had no interest in or need to, however, look any further. He shared with me that the maker of this viola, Hiroshi Iizuka, based near Philadelphia, was a good friend of his and that should I be interested in going that route, I could call him up using Michael as a reference.
Given that I was a grad student living on fumes, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I could even scarcely entertain the idea of buying an instrument of any kind. My nightly dinners of mystery sausages cooked on my George Foreman Grill and served up on a $0.25 white roll from C-Town were a stretch to my budget. Several years later, however, in the summer of 2007, I found myself finally operating in the black (barely) and decided it was time to pick up the phone and call Hiroshi Iizuka. In truth, I was terrified of calling him. Just because someone was nice to Michael Tree was in no way an indication that they would be nice to me and given how much of an introvert I am, I chose the safer option and emailed him. Lo and behold, a few replies later, I had placed an order for him to make me a viola identical to Michael’s, which would be completed somewhere between a year and a half to two years later. That would give me some time to save up and figure out how I was going to pay for it.
In November of that year, I was in the Philly area to attend my dear friend, and brilliant composer, Brett Abigaña’s wedding. I thought that I should take the opportunity to make a visit to Hiroshi’s workshop and put a face to the name stamped inside that remarkable instrument that Michael pulled from his case on that fateful day several years prior. My dad was in town for the wedding too, so he, Yuri, and I piled into our Ford Fusion rental car (why do I remember that?!) and drove to Hiroshi’s house. He had mentioned to me on the phone that he only had some smaller violas that I could try if I was interested and so, while I was still fixated a larger model, I looked forward to trying them nonetheless. I knocked on the door to his workshop and to my delight, the gentlest, kindest person imaginable emerged to greet us. He welcomed us in and quickly brought out a viola for me to try. To my great surprise, this was not a small viola at all. It looked very much like the one I had remembered. It just so happened, Hiroshi told us, that this viola had the same specifications as the one I had requested and had just become available. He handed me a bow and I started to play. I must have smiled from ear to ear because this was the sound I remembered too. It’s uncanny how there are certain elements of sound (and smell) that trigger memories so incredibly vividly unlike anything else. It took me just a few minutes to decide that this was the instrument for me. One of the first things that most of us do when we pick up a new instrument is to look at the label inside. This one was completed in 2004 and so it wasn’t a brand new instrument. I was curious to know its story. Remember how I told you that Michael routinely walked and therefore didn’t bring his instrument to teach? It turns out that by that time, he also did not bring it when he traveled by train to Philadelphia frequently to teach at the Curtis Institute. Instead, he had commissioned a viola from Hiroshi that would live in Philadelphia and allow him access to an instrument he knew well without needing to bring one from New York. Around that time, one of his students was looking for an instrument and Michael offered to sell his “Curtis” viola back to Hiroshi, which then the student could subsequently purchase. I think you probably have figured out where this is headed. In the end, that student did not complete the purchase and not only did I wind up with exactly the viola that I was hoping for, but it was ready at least a year early and it had been one of Michael’s.
Life happens, people move around and get busy, and this was the case with me. I never planned for more than fifteen years to lapse before I would see Hiroshi again, but that is precisely what happened. I stayed in touch with him over the years and when I noticed a couple of free days in the quartet’s schedule in mid April, I made it a priority to pay him a visit. He had moved house since my last visit and now lives in a beautiful log house in the woods. Not knowing where his workshop was, I wasn’t sure where to enter. I thought that the front door made as much sense as anything else. The knocker was a woodpecker carved out of a single piece of wood (no doubt by Hiroshi himself) with a pulley system that made the little bird do his thing, producing a beautiful and gentle tap on the door. Hiroshi answered, appearing to not have aged a day in 15 years. He was eager to see the viola but I, aware of the wear and tear of a decade and a half of living, was somewhat apprehensive to show him. There’s no way around it – the viola had some battle scars. But he, as kind and gracious as always, was unfazed. I do take very good care of the instrument, but bumps and bruises are par for the course and unavoidable. I left it in his capable hands with carte blanche to do whatever he felt it needed.
Before making the nearly 7 hour drive back to Buffalo to finish off our complete Shostakovich Quartet cycle, my colleagues generously welcomed the extra excursion to stop by Hiroshi’s and collect my viola. As I exited the van, I said to the others, “I don’t think this will take too long.” But within a few minutes, my colleagues, one by one, had joined me inside. Perhaps they were curious to meet the man responsible for making this viola that they had come to know so well themselves, though I have a feeling the primary motivation might have been a welcome restroom break before hitting the road again. Though a brilliant viola maker, Hiroshi does not play himself and he likes to joke that his string instrument of choice is a tennis racket. So, as each of my colleagues entered the house, he would bring out a violin or a cello for them to try and soon there was an impressive array of instruments spread across his living room. String players generally enjoy trying out new instruments by different makers, and likewise, luthiers are always extremely grateful to have their instruments played. It was equally fascinating for me, however, to hear my quartet mates on these instruments producing, at the same time, a new voice altogether and yet still a clearly recognizable and familiar sound.
Despite my original prediction upon arrival, we ended up staying for well over an hour. Evidently it was simply too wonderful of a moment for all of us in an otherwise hectic schedule that we didn’t want to let go. Eventually we (reluctantly) wrapped up and hit the road again, but not before we were gifted some beautiful honey that Hiroshi had bottled that morning (yes he’s an avid bee keeper too), and some lovely bracelets handmade by Hiroshi’s daughter, Kimiko.
And how is the viola after 48 hours with its maker? Looking and sounding better than ever.
