One Hand
Clapping:
The Taoe of Music
WholeArts and
The Psychic Internet is proud to present the
"Preface" and "Part One" of this
remarkable book by Daniel d'Quincy. "One Hand
Clapping: The Tao of Music," originally published by
WholeArts in 1991, is a book-length essay on the
performance of music from the perspective of Eastern
philosophy and religion. Mr. d'Quincy is a noted
composer, musician, author, inventor, educator, speaker,
and photographer. Please visit his unique music sites at WholeArts: syNThony, and the WholeArts Online Music Conservatory.
Page 6
His tantrums
were as impressive as they were daunting. The curious
thing, however, is that when it came to playing music he
always encouraged me to express myself – and, more
importantly, he gave me complete freedom of expression.
The music flowed in a swift stream through those early
years, one piece following another with uncritical ease.
My teacher had good and bad points. He may not have had
the patience to equip me with a rational technique, but
August Molzer, a student of Ysaye and Dvorak, was the
first to awaken in me a passion for music. Upon his
initial inspiration, music became the ridgepole of my
life. And it was the darkest day of my childhood when I
came for one of my biweekly lessons only to find that he
had suffered a heart attack and died.
My next
teacher was much younger, and in his prime as a
violinist. He had famous pupils to his credit, and
greater knowledge of the violin. I learned much from him:
how to hold the bow, how to grip the neck. Each lesson
was a difficult exercise in trying to break down what I
had learned before. I remember mostly a discouraging
number of years through which I heard repeatedly and
emphatically, "No! NO!!! Not that way." More
teachers followed and the "No, NO's!!!" went
forth and multiplied. Eventually I became a completely
squelched musician, wracked with nervous energies which
couldn't be controlled and which contributed nothing to
making music. Worse still, although I had become a
professional violinist, and my heart was not in it.
A magical
moment came when I was preparing for a recital at Lake
Tahoe in California. My accompanist at the time said that
she sensed my feeling for the music but also sensed that
I was not quite allowing myself to express that feeling.
This came as a complete surprise to me. She mentioned
also a favorite violinist of hers, Tossy Spivakovsky,
describing his very forceful approach to the violin, the
way that he attacked it like a bull. I had seen
Spivakovsky, and said to myself, slightly peeved:
“well, if she wants emotion, I'll really give it to
her.”
We were
playing a fantasy by Dvorak, and oddly enough the score
we were playing from had been given to me years ago by
August Molzer. I tore into the violin, pounding it with
all my might. And then, suddenly, the scent of cigar
seemed to tickle my nose. I found myself wandering in
spirit back to my childhood, seeing myself from afar, a
little boy trying to express his musical spirit to an old
man whom he loved with all his heart and soul. The
intervening years vanished and with it the discouragement
and self-denial that had become veritable parts of my
inner musical being. All that remained was the beauty,
the emotion and the meaning. These things may be all
there is to music. (Next Page)
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