
A Tale of Three Violinists
August 10, 2008
I stood in the artist’s dressing room, warming up nervously before my sole rehearsal with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. For a twenty-two-year-old violinist just starting a career, performing Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto with this distinguished group of musicians was an important engagement. My palms were sweating, my heart beat rapidly, and I began to pace back and forth. Grin and bear it, I said to myself. Everything will be all right once you start playing.
There was a knock on the door—undoubtedly the orchestra manager calling me on stage. I sighed with relief. At least the wait was over. I opened the door and stared in disbelief. Standing before me was perhaps the most famous comedian in all of America: Jack Benny. Benny, holding a violin case in his hand, wasted no time. “What’s this I hear about you making me look bad, kid?” I opened my mouth to say something but no sound came out. Benny continued unperturbed. “I was supposed to play the Mendelssohn. Now I hear you’re doing it. Never mind,” he said, brushing past me and placing his violin case next to mine in the dressing room. “I’ll do Sarasate’s Gypsy Airs instead.” My pre-concert nerves vanished, replaced by the sensation that I was in the midst of one of those improbable dreams of mine—in this case a private encounter with a man who reached millions of adoring fans on radio and television, a man who, without exaggeration, was an icon of American life and entertainment.
Then the situation took an even more surreal twist. Benny turned to me. “I’m working on a new routine,†he said. “This is Mischa Elman trying out a new chin rest. Tell me if you think it’s funny.” Right, I thought to myself. The great Jack Benny wants my opinion about what’s funny—me, a mere fiddle player who forgets a joke’s punch line five seconds after it’s been told. I shook my head in disbelief. Benny took out his violin and began playing Saint-Saëns’ Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso. Mischa Elman, one of the reigning violinists, would have been upset to be represented by what I heard. Elman’s opulent tone was legendary while Jack Benny’s was—how should I put this delicately—awful. Benny readjusted his chin with every little group of notes, never quite getting comfortable and appearing more and more irritated in the process. “Well, what do you think?” Benny asked, looking at me eagerly for approval. I burst out laughing. The skit was indeed very, very funny. Beaming, Benny put his violin back into its case. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s rehearse with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.” As it turned out, I was to rehearse the Mendelssohn first for a regular subscription concert that night with Benny following immediately afterwards for his slated performance at the orchestra’s pension fund concert.
My rehearsal with the orchestra and its conductor, Paul Paray, went reasonably well. Afterwards, both elated and relieved, I settled into an audience seat and prepared to enjoy an unexpected fringe benefit of my Detroit concert. Jack Benny soon emerged on stage, greeted the orchestra musicians, and began to explain the comedy routine he had in mind. He turned to Mischa Mischakoff, the orchestra’s concertmaster. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Mischa. I’ll begin this little cadenza in my usual lame fashion, but you’ll interrupt me immediately. You’ll play the cadenza as beautifully as you can. Then I’ll turn to the audience and look unhappy because you’ve just shown me up. Understand?” Mischa Mischakoff, a great violinist and renowned former concertmaster of the NBC Orchestra under Arturo Toscanini, nodded. ‘Alright then. Let’s start Sarasate’s Gypsy Airs from the beginning.” Benny proceeded to play the virtuoso work as badly as possible, mugging shamelessly for the musician’s amusement at every misstep. They could hardly hold their instruments much less play them for all the laughing that went on. Soon Benny came to the cadenza and Mischakoff, as planned, cut him off and began its swirling notes in masterful fashion. Halfway through, however, Mischakoff had a change of mind, probably due to all the laughing around him. He, too, would be funny. Mischakoff began missing notes and playing with more scratch than tone. Benny immediately waved his bow signaling the orchestra to stop. “Mischa. This is important,” he said as gently as possible. “I have to sound very bad. You have to sound very good. Otherwise it’s not going to work. Understand?” Mischa, looking somewhat bewildered, nodded again. “From the beginning once more.” Benny mugged and then Mischakoff interrupted him according to script. This time, he got at least three quarters through the cadenza in beautiful fashion. What a violinist, I thought to myself—pristine intonation, a silvery sound, and all the prerequisite instincts of a great soloist. But just then, to my alarm, Mischakoff faltered and lapsed into his old mistaken idea of comedy. I imagine that the presence of the great Jack Benny standing next to him was simply too much. Out came the shaking bow, the scratchy sounds, and the wrong notes once again. This time Benny never had a chance to open his mouth. The entire orchestra erupted in chorus, “No, Mischa! No!” Mischakoff, clearly rattled and miserable, stopped playing and looked to Benny for guidance.
What followed was a mini lecture on the nature of humor given by Jack Benny for the benefit of Mischa Mischakoff but taken in by all of us in the hall with rapt attention. For how often does one get to hear a master revealing his secrets? Benny spoke of the element of surprise, of the unexpected, of how comical it is to see someone with delusions of grandeur being exposed. “Don’t try to show me up, Mischa. Just do your job magnificently as if it’s no big deal. That makes it even funnier. Mischa, you see what I’m getting at, don’t you?” Mischa nodded his head vigorously. “Then once more from the top.”
Benny produced his train wreck of a performance once again and once again Mischakoff kidnapped the cadenza. This time he played soberly to the very end. The music rose ever higher, ever faster—effortlessly transported on the wings of Mischakoff’s fleet fingers. Then he hesitated artfully, fluttered bird-like for a moment on two alternating notes, and finally came to rest on a single high pitch that shimmered magically as though heaven bound. Jack Benny, the members of the orchestra, the conductor, and the small audience were mesmerized by the exquisite beauty of what we had just heard. No one moved, no one made a sound, and finally, Mischakoff, confronting a sea of silence around him, looked up unhappily and said, “I messed it up again, didn’t I?”
That night, tucked into my Detroit hotel bed, I reviewed the day’s events. Foremost on my mind was the Mendelssohn performance. I had played musically, but had there been enough magic? Felix Mendelssohn, the father of this exquisite concerto, would have been disappointed if I, a midwife of sorts, had not delivered his baby successfully. Then I thought of Jack Benny’s antics and chuckled in the dark. He had played the violin very badly and made us laugh—magic of another kind. And finally Mischa Mischakoff’s siren sound began playing in my head. Definitely magic.
The events of that day, a tale of three violinists, took place almost fifty years ago. To my surprise, a bit of it is still retrievable. Someone who collects performances off the air recently told me that he has my Detroit Mendelssohn Concerto on CD and asked whether I would like a copy. I am not so sure. Do I want to know whether a half-century-old performance of mine had enough magic to it? Jack Benny’s comic genius from that era, the 1950s and 1960s, is certainly available for us to enjoy on a wealth of recordings and film. What cannot be retrieved from that Detroit day is Mischa Mischakoff’s performance of a cadenza lasting less than ten seconds. But no matter. In my inner ear, I can still hear Mischakoff’s silvery sound and that last shimmering, transcendent note of his. Believe me, Mischa. You didn’t mess it up.
Watch Jack Benny and his magic violin.
Jack Benny on his Magic Violin
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Comments
Arnold, this lovely piece of writing gave me goosebumps and made me weep. See you on the hill next weekend we hope. Love from Susan and Hilary
Dear Arnold,
I am a friend of Betsy Parker Steinhardt from college days, and she was kind enough to alert me to your blog and wonderful writings. Your tale of Three Violinists and the unrecorded Mischahoff cadenza reminded me of two magical moments for me.
1. I was in rehearsal at the Met as a chorus member for a production Boris in the middl e90’s, and happened to wander down to the main stage early and there in the middle of the stage was Luciano Pavarotti sitting on a sawhorse just about to rehearse “Di rigori”, the Italian Singer’s Song from Rosenkavalier. He was going to do a cameo appearance in an upcoming performance. Carlos Kleiber was in the pit. Standing next to me was the tenor Gary Lakes. The orchestra began playing and then Pavarotti, who was definitely on his last legs vocally, proceeded to sing perhaps one of the best performances of his life. He sang effortlessly spinning out Strauss’s impeccable and beguiling imitation of Italian melody. All eyes and ears were turned to center stage. It was one of those moments you do not want to end, but when it did, I turned to look at Gary who was standing there mouth agape, shaking his head in admiration. Spontaneous applause erupted. Luciano had his usual broad smile on his face. I did not attend the actual performance which was probably recorded, but I could not imagine a more magical moment being produced.
2. As a boy soprano I had the honor of performing with Bernstein and the Philharmonic on several occasions at Carnegie Hall in the early 60’s. One of the productions was a very Romantic rendition of Bach’s Saint Matthew Passion. There were 8 of us boys singing treble (ripieno chorale) in various movements. We were situated smack dab in the middle of two orchestras and two choruses with only the maestro in front of us and soloists on either side of him. For four performances, rehearsals and recording sessions, I was not 10 feet from Leonard Bernstein conducting one of the two greatest choral works ever written. (Bach wrote the other as well – B minor Mass). How lucky could an 11 year old get. Well, I’ll tell you.
Even though we sang in English and, by today’s convention of utilising period instruments and singers more attuned to Baroque vocal style, the performance seems overly lush and more in style with Mahler, when we got to the contralto solo “Erbarme Dich” sung beautifully and oh so poignantly by Betty Allen, it was the violin playing of the concertmaster, John Corigliano that grabbed my attention. It seared my heart forever. His playing combined with the intensity and dramatic movements of Bernstein’s body just captured me and made me a happy prisoner of music for life. I would ride the Broadway IRT home after every performance to 116th Street standing in the front car conducting and pretending to play Mr. Corigliano’s violin, that gorgeous melody just rolling over and over in my mind’e ear and filling my heart with pathos. That’s how lucky one can get!
Please continue to pass along your pearls.
Forrest Munger
Hello Mr. Steinhardt,
I am a 14 year old violinist living in northern VA, and I am very serious in music.
Reading your blogs has given me inspiration to practice and become a better person. You manage to tell us through your writing what we can expect and what experiences we can have when we work hard and succeed. I am very touched by your delicate vocabulary and wonderful writing.
I managed to attend an open rehearsal and a concert at the University of Maryland from the Guarneri Quartet during the spring. I believe you did Beethoven’s Harp and his Op. 130, with the Grosse Fugue. I believe that it was the most touching and beautiful ensemble playing that I had ever heard in my life. Congratulations for your successes and friendships that you have gained throughout your wonderful life.
Hi there,
Greetings from Coe College! I just saw you guys in action on Friday and have been on this website since for the music; it is getting me through finals (oh no!). This has nothing to do with The Swan, which was really nice to read anyway, just, THANKS for playing. I LOVE YOU!! (u probably don’t get that a lot, haha).
Cheers, on a winter night and papers due,
Reira
Thanks for this piece on Jack Benny. I was at his fund raiser as well as your appearance with the Detroit Symphony, hearing the Mendelssohn violin concerto two in one week by two great violinists.
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