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June 15 - 21, 2001

Mom and Pops Unite: Taking on a Dry-clean Giant in Fairfax
(in National News)

State Safety Net for Immigrants in Jeopardy
(in Bay Area News)

Were Those Bugle Boys You Were Wearing?
(in Business)

Fantastic Plastic Machine: Tanaka and His Beautiful Girl
(in A&E)

Paying Attention: Remembering the Stonewall Uprising of '69
(in Opinion)

Notes from the Conservatory

Surviving and succeeding in the competitive world of classical music

By Ji Hyun Lim

Within the domed auditorium of San Francisco State’s McKenna Theater, some 75 casually dressed audience members eagerly wait, as cellos and violins echo from the hall. Twelve competitors are set to perform in front of ten judges in the 16th Annual Irving M. Klein International String Competition, held June 9-10.

Eunice Keem, a petite Korean American, walks on stage with her violin, wearing a simple black gown. She begins to play, swaying back and forth as Bach, Liptak, Barber and Tchaikovsky flow from her instrument with precision and ease. Staccato notes reverberate throughout the room; legato notes inspire tears.

“I always get nervous before I play,” Keem says after her performance. “One of the reasons I enter [competitions] is because it makes you practice so much. That can improve your level of playing.”

Mi Ryung Song, a student at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, displays her agility on the flute. “I do it because it makes me feel good. It’s always been a part of my life.” Photo by Ji Hyun Lim.
After each musician has finished performing, Keem waits backstage. She listens as the master of ceremony announces the winners of the competition.

And then she hears her name.

“Third place goes to … Eunice Keem.”

“There’s always things I can improve on,” Keem says. “I’m always critical of myself and how I play, technical things I can work on. The most important thing is, make music and enjoy yourself while you do it.”

Last weekend’s string contest honors the late virtuoso chamber musician and master cello teacher Irving M. Klein. Three hundred instructors from around the country recommend 100 musicians ages 15 to 23 to submit applications for the competition. They vie for cash prizes ranging from $10,000 for first place to $250 for fifth place.

The competition is among many around the country for young musicians to display their skills and gain valuable performing experience.

It is also symbolic of the cutthroat world of classical musical. Many of the most serious students begin lessons before they learn to read. Their days are consumed with long hours of practice, lessons, rehearsals, and other musical training. Friends and childhood fun are often forfeited. None of that, however, guarantees success.

Even without the contests, competition is a daily reality. Musicians must contend for spots in top-notch conservatories. They must possess the kind of talent that captures the attention of their teachers. After they graduate their chances of being hired by the country’s best symphony orchestras are slim, with a limited number of positions opening each year. Even at Julliard School, the premiere training ground for classical musicians, only .5 percent — or one out of 200 students — graduates to a solo career.

Still, the love of music drives the most dedicated to follow their dreams and passions.

It Began with Sesame Street

Michelle Maruyama, junior violin major, says she tries to practice every day. “If you take a day or two off [from practice], you can definitely feel the difference.” Photo by Ji Hyun Lim.
Like Keem, Michelle Maruyama, a 22-year-old violin major at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, wants to make music her career.

Japanese American Maruyama fell in love with classical music when she saw Itzhak Perlman perform on Sesame Street, and she immediately asked her parents for a violin. She was 2 1/2 years old.

A year and a half later, when she was all of 4, her parents relented. She’s been playing ever since.

Maruyama’s passion for music never waned, so in high school she made a commitment to study at San Francisco Conservatory of Music. A National Merit Scholar, Maruyama declined an offer to Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Unlike her peers who studied an instrument to bolster their college resumes, she didn’t want to forego music to enter a more traditional career track of law or medicine.

Maruyama was also drawn to the conservatory because it was close to her parent’s home in Monterey and provided Maruyama with the opportunity to train with acclaimed instructor Ian Swenson, whom she had previously studied with in the pre-college preparatory division of the school.

Currently, Maruyama is a sophomore. Like many liberal arts colleges, the conservatory requires students take coursework in Western civilization, history, philosophy, languages and literature. However, music is the focus.

Maruyama’s father, Xavier, recalls the day she took him aside and said she was going to be “independently poor.”

“It’s a concern, but not the driving concern,” he says. “But she decided this is what she wanted to do. I can’t win any arguments with her. The parents’ role is to support and do the best they can.”

According to Xavier Maruyama, his daughter’s career — whether she succeeds or fails — will not be a reflection of Japanese Americans. He points out that first- or second-generation Asian Americans have more pressure to succeed in high-profile vocations. “If you fail, it reflects upon your ethnic group,” he says.

His daughter, however, is third generation.

“You know you’ve assimilated if you’ve failed in your own right,” he says. “They don’t put you into a category. When I was brought up, there was a communal reflection. I think [for] her generation, if she succeeds, it’s because of her, not because she’s Japanese American.”

Xavier Maruyama says his daughter is self-driven. Her competitiveness is not that she wants to beat someone else, but rather, she wants to constantly challenge herself.

She says: “It’s always hard to make money and there’s a lot of guilt involved. If you take a day or two off [from practice], you can definitely feel the difference.”

San Francisco’s Crown Jewel

Maruyama is one of 260 students enrolled in the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.

The front entrance of the conservatory on Ortega Street. Photo by Ji Hyun Lim.
A pale yellow building embellished by a red trimmed rooftop, its front door windows are plastered with faces of young children, the only sign that the building was once an orphanage. Some students comment on an “energy” that pervades the building. Perhaps it is the history of the building. Perhaps it is the energy of the students.

Young people from 36 states and 20 countries study here. About 65 percent of the students receive scholarship assistance and 75 percent receive financial aid. The annual budget for scholarships is $1.78 million.

Twenty-two majors lead to bachelor and master degrees, music diplomas, and artist certificates. Each year, the conservatory gives over 250 concerts at schools, daycare and senior centers, and hospitals. The operating budget for 2000-2001 is $9 million. The school is well-funded with $30 million in endowments.

The building now sits on Ortega Street in the Sunset District, but plans to move the school to 50 Oak St. within four years are already in the works.

According to Colleen Katzowitz, director of student services, the student body is 59 percent white, 11 percent Asian American, 5 percent Latino, 3 percent African American, and 0.4 percent American Indian. International students make up the remaining 21 percent, and can be of any ethnicity.

“Our enrollment reflects the classical music situation,” Katzowitz says. “We don’t recruit on an ethnic level. Since we’re a conservatory of music, we want to ensure we have talented students in the program. It would ill serve the students if we admitted unqualified students to the program.”

Each year some 500 students apply for admission to the conservatory. About 50 percent are admitted. Young musicians submit resumes, academic records, test scores, and two letters of recommendations. The most important part of the admissions process, however, is the audition before the school’s faculty.

The program is rigorous and requires students to practice every day. The retention rate is around 60 percent — similar to liberal arts colleges.

“We are looking for musical talent, some performance experience and someone comfortable performing,” Katzowitz says. “It’s different from the well-rounded liberal arts student. We are looking for someone who knows what it means to engage in this profession.”

“Healthy competition” is important according to Katzowitz. In extreme cases, if students drive themselves too hard, instructors try to work with them and help them achieve more balance in their lives.

“We consider our environment a very supportive atmosphere,” Katzowitz says. “Students are supportive and we want them to hone their skills, but not at the expense of each other. I think one of the characteristics of students is that they are very singly focused. They are going into a very competitive business. But we want to bring out the humanness of the students. They are part of a broader society.”

Even after graduation, competition for jobs is fierce. Some musicians will play in small regional orchestras; others will seek job opportunities in the trade publications. Those hoping for professional careers will be required to submit a preliminary audition tape. If they are called back, they will have to perform before a panel of judges.

The San Francisco Conservatory has enrolled international students since the early 1950s. The majority of them have always come from Asian countries, including China, Japan, Korea and Taiwan. Many of the graduates return to their home countries to perform or teach.

Others become international stars.

Twenty-nine-year-old conservatory graduate Hai-Ye Ni has made a name for herself in the classical music world. A cellist, Ni won the prestigious Naumberg Competition in New York. She also won first place in the International Paulo Cello Contest in Finland and second place in the Rostropovich Competition in Paris. Currently, she performs with the New York Philharmonic.

“I would like to play more concerts, travel back to China and share my knowledge by teaching master classes, performing and teaching the younger generation to learn more about the cello,” Ni says. “I hope to become an internationally renowned cellist.”

Viewpoint of an Instructor

Doris Fukawa sits on the conservatory’s violin faculty. Fukawa, herself, is a professional violinist, a substitute player for the San Francisco Symphony. She has taught at the school for 15 years.

Fukawa started playing violin at age 10 — late, considering most people on the professional track start well before then. She trained at Manhattan School of Music and Columbia University.

Fukawa says she looks for creativity and spirit in her students. But enjoying music is not enough. Students must be focused and willing to make a commitment.

“It’s not easy to commit to practicing,” Fukawa says.

“A prodigy usually is rare — kids who are extremely dedicated and talented from the start,” Fukawa says. “They have extreme motivation and are extremely musical. They’re willing to show that kind of work on their instrument. You can see the facility right away in the way they practice and what they come prepared with.”

For those who are lucky enough to make a living as a musician with a major symphony, their salaries cap at $85,000 to $150,000 for tenured players, and $75,000 to $150,000 for freelancers.

“You have to be able to get along with your colleagues if you want a good recommendation,” Fukawa says. “There’s risk involved in not being a mainstream person. Many Asian Americans are too conservative for that.”

Mi-Mi-Mi-Miiiiiiii

Junior voice major Asia Roos leads a careful lifestyle to nurture her voice. “Your body is your instrument.” Photo by Ji Hyun Lim.
Twenty-year-old Asia Roos is a junior in voice.

When she was young, she used to sing loud — and off pitch. Her parents decided to send her to voice lessons, and her studies have continued since.

Roos’ parents are visual artists. Both her mother (who is Japanese American) and her father (who is of Swedish descent) always loved opera. Roos’ father used to work on the sets for the Metropolitan Opera, and her mother worked for the Lincoln Center. Roos remembers her father sitting her down one day and making her watch the entire 16-hour televised version of Wagner’s Ring.

Roos realizes the challenges she faces as an aspiring opera singer. For women especially, competition is fierce. Because there are so many female singers, she explains, minute differences in the voice will determine whether someone will get the part or not.

“The reward is in not knowing what’s going to happen next,” Roos says. “It could be the most wonderful, incredible thing tomorrow, then, you can crash. If you don’t get cast, you feel more horrible than you can possibly feel. Or, you could be dressing up and singing.”

She adds: “What other profession do you spend half the day in your pajamas and the other half in an 18th-century evening gown, wig and all this jewelry?”

Roos doesn’t have a set routine. She considers herself an insomniac who dislikes schedules and repetition. According to Roos, opera singers tend to be erratic, while musicians tend to be more methodical.

“We have to be careful and take care of our voices,” Roos says. “We need lots of sleep, no drinking, no drugs, no smoking, no hanging around with anyone who smokes, no loud screaming, no over-singing. Your body is your instrument. It’s really hard.”

In addition, opera is becoming increasingly demanding in terms of physical appearance, she says. “Crossover audiences … don’t want to see a 16-year-old Madame Butterfly or a 45-year-old who weighs 250 pounds, who can barely move around the stage. There’s a real demand for athletic singers … an emphasis … on acting, interpretation.”

Along with that come barriers for singers who don’t look the part. Roos recalls telling an alternate cast member for the musical Phantom of the Opera that she was interested in auditioning for the lead part of Christine. The singer told Roos that because she was Asian, she wouldn’t fit the role, but that she would make a great Miss Saigon — a part that isn’t even in Roos’ vocal range.

“In the opera world, I haven’t encountered any blatant racism,” Roos says. “If it’s really clear you’re the best performer, it’s not a problem. But if it comes down to two people who are exactly the same, and one of the performers has wavy, pre-Raphaelite hair, with blue eyes … she is going to get cast.”

Choosing Music

Mi Ryung Song, a 20-year-old flute major, moved from Seattle to attend the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.

Tall and athletic, Song played tennis in high school and considered playing for a college team. She gave up those dreams, though, to follow her true passion: the flute.

When she was seven, Song began studying flute at a local church. Her talent was evident early on. Soon, she was taking private lessons. She made the decision to go to music school the summer before senior year in high school. She heard about San Francisco Conservatory at a college fair. A teacher and a representative from the school encouraged her to apply.

“Basically, you follow your teacher,” Song says. “You want to find the best private teacher. I was in a competition in Seattle and I met Tim Day, a teacher at the conservatory. We clicked.”

Song says her father encouraged her, but never forced her to take flute lessons.

“There was no push or expectation for me to be in music,” she says. “I was in swimming, karate, art. Music just stuck. When you’re better than other kids — because you started it earlier — it makes you thrive. You have an edge over other people. For me, it was choice.”

Although some of her peers take night classes to secure a “back-up career,” Song says she can’t imagine spending so much effort on any other profession.

She doesn’t anticipate reaching her goal for many years, however.

“If you practice seven hours a day, you’ll have fast fingers and great technique. What you’re missing is maturity that these young musicians don’t quite have a grasp of,” Song explains. “It’s pure age. You need the experience for the musicality.

“Few people out of millions of players will be soloist … It’s not about the money. I do it because it makes me feel good. It’s always been a part of my life. I can’t imagine spending my time on anything else and being happy.”


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