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How Nervous Should I Be? (Reflections on a N.Y. Debut) By ORION WEISS
In the past, a New York debut had much in common with a Southern girl's debutante ball. The recital was a coming-of-age experience required for every artist, an official confirmation of one's existence. It was a promenade for scrutiny and recognition in front of the critics, the city, and—through extension—the world. Just as a debutante ball announced the young girl's availability to suitors and readiness for marriage, a New York recital opened (or closed) the floodgates of career opportunities for a young artist. Halls across the country would browse through reviews in The New York Times to determine their next season's artists. Careers hinged on trivial distinctions of semantics; which is better: "spectacular" or "wonderful," or even "death-defying"? Critics would be bribed left and right, in black envelopes, in order to get one—just one—perfect and quotable sentence; after all, there is only so much that can be hid by an ellipsis. Famous stunts were pulled, I'm sure; all kinds of crazy things happened: sabotage, stunt doubles, special effects … Those were desperate, different times (even if none of the folklore is true). But it does seem like the debut holds a different significance nowadays. Perhaps because of the large number of them daily—in dozens of venues across the city—a New York debut is no longer comparable to the grand presentation of a ceremonial ball. It's something more akin to the opening of a new act in the park or the subway. Sometimes a crowd forms; more often it goes unnoticed. (Again, I don't know exactly how much of this I'm making up; who knows what a debut really meant back then, or what it means now?) The only question in my mind at the moment is: How nervous should I be?
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| Pianist Orion Weiss will give his New York recital debut in Alice Tully Hall this month. (Photo by Henry Fair) |
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Every pianist dreams while practicing. I'm pretty sure this is generally true, although some I know watch television instead. Some fantasize about dinner, vacation, or octaves. I fantasize that the performance for which I'm practicing will change my world. What I mean is, if I play well enough—if I play the music the way I imagine it—then I'll become happy or satisfied, magically transported out of the narrow practice room. It's a nice make-believe world: features on magazine covers, not having to write my own interviews, cash thrown on stage (no flowers for me, thank you), success and fame. It also includes not having to work so hard—as if some simple problem would be solved, and piano playing would become easy! (It's a half-brained fantasy, of course; I'll never even get the first step down!) In reality, it is incredibly difficult to be a pianist; even feeling natural and comfortable comes and goes. There are all kinds of other difficulties with playing the performance of one's dreams. The way I "imagine the music" is actually just the way I imagine that I imagine it, right? There's also a remarkable discrepancy between the way musical time passes in one's mind, and the way the seconds or beats click away during a performance. It seems impossible to reach one's own ideal; maybe it's even impossible to define it. A teacher once told me that there is no such thing as a great performance—only performances with higher concentrations of "great moments." (Or maybe just a couple really stupendous moments.) I wonder if that's true. I think this is all about my difficult dream that my New York debut will be unique among all my concerts. It should be perfect!
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Orion Weiss, Piano
Juilliard William Petschek Piano Debut
Alice Tully Hall
Thursday, April 14, 8 p.m.
For ticket information, please see
the calendar.
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I've traveled a little already in my life—enough to know that people in Miami and Las Vegas dress the same, and that hotel sheets aren't always as clean as one might hope. I've performed enough to know that it will never be perfect. It's never even close. The scale of "perfect" is good for practicing, but relatively useless in performance. Practically speaking, I really love the program I'm doing for the Petschek (which includes Liszt's Liebesträume No. 3 and Mephisto Waltz No. 4, Bach's French Suite No. 1, Scriabin's Piano Sonata No. 9, and Beethoven's "Hammerklavier" Sonata). It's a little bit dark, a little strange, but I think it holds together really well. I think it has lots of potential. I'm excited about playing for an audience filled with family and friends, not to mention teachers and colleagues.Debutante balls have fallen by the wayside in our world of increasing social awareness. Many women saw them as an insulting throwback, an insinuation that the main role of women was to marry. And maybe now the debut is not the emerging artist's only option, but one of many. Still, it is one of the most daunting and thrilling options! I am so grateful to the William Petschek Charitable Trust and The Juilliard School for presenting me with this terrific opportunity. It surely is a tremendous honor to play in the lineup of so many wonderful pianists who have come before me and who will follow me. I can still dream, though: If I play well enough, do you think they might leave my poster up for a few extra days?Orion Weiss, who earned his bachelor's degree in piano from Juilliard last May, was also a two-time winner of the School's Gina Bachauer Award.
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