SCHUMANN, ARGERICH, MEHTA . . . AND THE EMERGENCY ROOM

MARCH 20, 2024 – I’m sick. And tired. Tired of being sick; sick of being tired. On the positive side, all test results on Monday, at least were negative: in my misery then I checked into the “Urgency Room,” where the staff took swabs for the possible suspects—flu, strep, RSV, Covid-19—and x-rays to rule out pneumonia. Also, as I awaited the results I reminded myself that it’s been a year since I’ve had a cold/cough, though my recovery (it seems in hindsight, as I currently struggle a week into my present misery) was relatively quick and didn’t involve a trip to the “UR.”

But there is another positive aspect of my current condition. As I lay down for an intended nap this afternoon, I searched YouTube (on my phone) for “Robert Schumann piano concerto a minor.” Given the piece’s inclusion in the war horse stable of the piano repertoire, many choices appeared. I wasn’t fussy. I clicked on “Martha Argerich and Zubin Mehta – Vienna Philharmonic.” I’d heard of the famous conductor, of course, and the equally famous orchestra, but perhaps shamefully in the company of readers who might’ve assumed I was more knowledgeable of the music world than I am . . . I’d not heard of the pianist, who, it turns out, is a globally recognized Titaness of the keyboard.

I’d anticipated falling asleep to the music, but instead, I wound up watching, listening—albeit in a prone position—to the entire 38-minute performance filmed in the Musikverein – Goldener Saal less than two years ago. I didn’t need to be told of Argerich’s technical brilliance and artistic genius. They were on full display in her rendering of the Schumann.

By now in no mood for a nap, I researched the pianist’s bio and was plain shocked to learn she was 81 years old at the time of the recording. Mehta, by the way, was 86—more about him below. Argerich (the name reflects her Catalonian paternal heritage; her maternal grandparents were Russian Jews who resettled in Argentina as part of the Jewish Colonization Association orchestrated by one Baron de Hirsch, a hyper-wealthy financier and philanthropist dedicated to promoting Jewish education opportunities and sponsoring large-scale emigration to Argentina, of which Argerich’s grandparents were direct beneficiaries).

Argerich exhibited extraordinary musical talent not too long after learning to walk and talk. Unlike many child prodigies, however, she didn’t flame out. Her artistic genius blossomed—the world over—to this day.

Her command of the Schumann, which I had to think she’d performed a thousand times, was complete, fully integrated with every cell of her being. As I searched for other online recordings of her concerti performances—several of which I listed to subsequently—I decided that not in a million years would AI match her artistry. The main reason: she’s a human genius.

Mehta, meanwhile, looked his age. The traditionally animated conductor sat in a chair with his feet resting on a crossbar. His countenance was rather deadpan and his baton, metronomic. In fairness, however, 95% of the work of a conductor occurs during rehearsal, not the actual concert, and in Mehta’s case especially, one could learn much about music just by listening to him communicate his interpretation. Given his decades-long, global career conducting some of the finest symphony orchestras of all time, doubtless he’d collaborated on the Schumann with many pianists besides Argerich (and perhaps with her multiple times).

I knew Mehta was originally from India; that he’d conducted the LA Philharmonic for many years; then the New York Phil; I knew somehow about his close association with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra and his affinity for the state of Israel. But beyond that, I was quite ignorant. To improve my knowledge somewhat, I watched a 50-minute documentary about Mehta produced in 1998, when he was 62. He comes across as a musical dynamo very much tethered to earth at the same time he’s in touch with the divine. His life, his work, his heart, mind and soul are further proof that however much we might fear or embrace AI, it will never replace the divinity that resides in humanity.

At this late hour, I’m lying on a gurney in the emergency room, sent here by my oncologist concerned about neutropenia and where that could lead. Fortunately, it’s a quiet night, and because I’m a cancer patient with compromised immunity, I was put at the top of the queue. Before I’d even had a chance to sit down after checking in, I was called back by a nurse for the start of a long battery of tests—still ongoing. The level of care here is the same standard of every other corner of the system: topflight in smarts, proficiency, expertise, kindness, and caring. Sure, there’s mind-boggling technology running in the background and foreground, but just as with great music, the heavenly is to be found in our humanity.

If I’m unlucky to have landed in the ER, I’m lucky to be in the embrace of the divine.

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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson