Series: Guiding Hands

There was a requirement for every music school applicant to have a secondary area of study, either in singing or a second instrument. I started taking voice lessons with a reputable teacher midway through high school. After a few months, she didn’t think I was making good enough progress. Prof. Wu and mom then decided that flute would be a safe thing to try.

Feeling defeated from my brief stint with vocal study, I went to Mr. Xue Yaowu (薛耀武)^[1] not sure what would happen next. My fear dissipated as soon as I entered his apartment. He was unlike any other music teacher that I had: casual—jeans-and-T-shirt casual, upbeat and kind to his students. Full of energy, his love for life and work was apparent.

He was separated from his family during the Sino-Japanese war at the age of ten and spend part of his youth in an orphanage. After graduating from high school, he entered the Military Music School in Shanghai. In 1948, he went to Taiwan with the Nationalist military. What he might have lacked in academic training, he made up with performing experiences. He and Mrs. Xue, a violinist, were both members of Taiwan Provincial Symphony Orchestra (now National Taiwan Symphony Orchestra). After the arrival of children, she stayed home mostly while he continued teaching and performing. In 1972, he received Rockefeller Foundation Fellowship to pursue advanced study in the States.

Mr. Xue’s main instrument was clarinet but was adept at flute playing as well. Because of the shortage of woodwind teachers in those years, he took on the challenge of training the young players. There were always students coming and going at his home. Many of them have gone on to become successful performers and teachers.

Mr. Xue was passionate about chamber music. Whenever he could find time, he was practicing or planning rehearsals and performances with his colleagues. From him, I learned a lot about chamber music literature: the composers, the major works, and the artists. I became aware of the importance of listening to various recording of the same work; I became familiar with the names of leading performers.

From time to time, I would play duets with other students. I never quite saw the point of practicing (piano or anything else) hours on end alone. Playing with friends, on the other hand, was totally fun. Mr. Xue would encourage me to accompany other students at the piano. Although it would take me years to acquire the skills and knowledge necessary to become a competent collaborator, these early attempts opened the doors for me.

It was in his studio that I first heard music of Poulenc, Hindemith. Their works might have become standard repertoire by late twentieth century but were completely new to me. The strange sounding dissonances gradually sunk in and became well-designed characteristics.

One day, Mr. Xue told me that the son of his old friend Hiao-Tsiun Ma (馬孝駿), a cellist, would be giving chamber music concerts with his Harvard classmates. He highly recommended that I attended the concert. I asked for permission to be off campus for one night so I could be there for the performance. It was the first time I heard Yo-Yo Ma live in concert. He was nineteen years old and was on his way to become an international star.

I learned to make reasonable sound out of the head joint and began playing exercises within weeks. My basic musical training also helped me to learn repertoire with no problem. Very soon, I became part of the “family.” Mrs. Xue, a wonderful cook, would have me stay for lunch or dinner. I was shy at first but quickly became comfortable spending time there. Their children, a son Hér-bìh (和璧) and a daughter Gan-ju (紺珠), were only a little younger than me. Although they were both musically inclined, only Hér-bìh decided to pursue a career in music. I was enlisted to give him piano lessons. It was a little strange “teaching” the son of my teacher. But things worked out OK. After graduating from Taipei Hwa Kang Art School (華崗藝校), Hér-bìh studied cello at Musashino Academia Musicae in Tokyo. There he met and married a lovely Japanese violist.

For years, I would send Christmas greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Xue. I even asked mom to drop by for a visit once, wanting to make sure that they were still living at the same place. When I finally returned to Taiwan in 2004 after securing my permanent residency, I realized that, after Mr. Xue’s retirement, they moved to Kaohsiung to be with Hér-bìh and my greeting cards had not reached them for almost a decade. Mrs. Xue had passed away in 1997. Months before my visit, Hér-bìh also died unexpectedly of heart attack. Unable to make a trip down south that summer, I was hoping to see Mr. Xue in my next visit. Sadly, a month later, he passed away. Even though I, by chance, reconnected with Gan-ju in New Jersey, it would forever be my regret to not have gone to Kaohsiung that summer.

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^[1] Xue Yaowu: Photo and biography in Chinese

After completing my undergraduate study, like many students in Prof. Wu’s studio, I moved upstairs to study with Prof. Scholz. Earlier in his career, he and his brother Heinz, were an active piano duo, performing under the batons of conductors such as Dimitri Mitropoulos, Herbert von Karajan, Bruno Walter and Arturo Toscanini. They also collaborated on an authoritative edition of Mozart’s piano work. Heinz later became the President of Mozarteum in Salzburg.^[1]

If we were to meet today, I would have many questions on Mozart’s work for him. Unfortunately, because of my linguistic limits, there were few verbal exchanges between us back then. Prof. Scholz would mark fingering, phrasing and pedaling on my scores. I loved those moments when he would demonstrate. Free flowing music just came out of the piano. I learned a lot listening to his singing and playing.

Having lived in Taiwan for almost two decades, Prof. Scholz still preferred to prepare European style meals for himself. Occasionally, smells of freshly baked pastries would come through the kitchen door. I always imagined how he worked on batter or dough with his limber fingers. Sweet distractions.

I began preparing for applications to graduate schools in the States in 1982. When the time came to ask for his recommendations, he took a look of the forms and asked: “Why are you going? What do you want to do?” His questions frightened and confused me.

I was frightened that he might not write the letters for me. I was confused because, up to that moment, I never questioned what my next steps would be after undergraduate study. Under Martial Law, the establishment of new schools and degree programs was restricted. Whoever wished to pursue further studies in music must go aboard. It was a common path to get a graduate degree abroad, return to Taiwan and teach—hopefully in a college. Matter of fact, I had promised mom to earn a graduate degree quickly so I could get a good teaching position. Could there be other options outside of teaching?

I did not know if Prof. Scholz posted the same questions to other students in similar situation; I did not know if he asked me because he didn’t think I was ready. And, I had no answers for either question. With Prof. Wu’s urge, he did provide me with references. I chose to attend Cleveland Institute of Music. However, his questions kept coming back to haunt me.

In summer of ‘85, having received a Master of Music in Piano Performance, I went to see him while in Taiwan visiting family. I played part of Ravel G major Concerto for him. We discussed the possible influence of jazz music in Ravel’s approach. He asked me about my upcoming activities and plans. This time, I was able to tell him that I liked to continue to pursue academic research and to develop my collaborative skills. He nodded and said, “Now you know what you want.”

The most valuable lesson that Prof. Scholz taught me was to think like a professional. Musicians live to express and to serve. Every step that we take professionally and every hour that we spend in preparation must be purposeful.

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^[1]Robert_Scholz_(pianist)_Wiki