Letter from Boston

Short Trip Home

By MASAKO YAMADA

My first month of grad school has been hectic. Although I've got accustomed to the new routine, it seems I'm always busy doing problem sets or studying for some exam. Also, since I went to a liberal arts school, it's been difficult for me to adjust to doing just physics and nothing else.

In my department, most of the incoming students take three physics courses and serve as teaching assistants for 10-15 hours a week. This doesn't leave them much free time. Because I don't have to grade papers or lead discussion sessions for the undergrads, I've been able to take an extra course outside the department ― undergraduate elementary Chinese. It's a very unusual thing to do, but this is something I am treating myself to.

At Wellesley I spent about equal amounts of time taking physics courses and English courses. In my senior year I also spent about four hours a day practicing for various music ensembles, so it's almost shocking to think that I haven't touched a keyboard since June. In fact, I didn't listen to a real piano during my entire summer vacation.

Whenever I long to hear piano music, I listen to CDs, but a recording just isn't the same as a live performance. I occasionally listen to tapes we made of our college group performances, and I cringe at the awful mistakes I made but delight in the beauty of the ensemble work. Even that doesn't take the place of the real thing, though.

Recently, my friend Ryuji was to give a recital near our old piano school in New Jersey, and although I was busy as usual, I firmly decided to take a bus home that weekend and listen to him perform. We were in the same piano class for about 10 years from elementary school until we entered college, so I really wanted to be in his audience.

Ryuji has been composing since childhood. I remember him often playing his new creations for us during class. Although we were in the same grade, his spontaneous variations on the pieces we played were always a cut above mine.

Because this was his first performance since he graduated from college, I knew it would be a significant event. Having been, myself, in many ill-attended college concerts, I can also understand the importance of showing support for musicians just by "being physically present."

At Ryuji's recent concert, half of the program consisted of his own compositions. Therefore, not only was the sound of the piano alive; so was the actual content of the pieces. The two scherzi he composed were fairly "classical" sounding, but his "Twelve-Tone Rock" sounded completely contemporary. He used both the synthesizer and the piano for this piece, and he sang his own lyrics, as well.

Rock music is well-known, of course, but twelve-tone pieces are rare. In the common Western scale, the 12 notes in each octave are "ranked" according to how important they are, but in twelve-tone music, all of the notes are considered equally important. The resulting music can sound discordant to ears accustomed to harmony, but the effect can also be fresh and startling.

After the concert, I greeted all of my old high school piano teachers and helped myself to the snacks that were served in the lobby. Ryuji was busy shaking hands with all the guests who were congratulating him. Many asked him for his autograph, and some even wanted him pose in pictures with them. I waited until the crowd had thinned to say "Hi."

He seemed surprised and very happy to see me. We chit-chatted for a short while, and then he had to run off to his next engagement. It was clearly his night of glory. He is also performing in Japan, so I hope he can be as successful there as he was here.

I headed back to Boston along with my mother and youngest brother. I was in New Jersey for less than 24 hours before returning to school, where a pile of untouched homework and a mechanics midterm test were waiting for me. The academic cost of going home was admittedly high. But the value was, I think, higher.

Shukan ST: Nov. 1, 1996

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