Dear Diary:

While the feeling ebbs away more and more each year, this time of year (this week specifically) always reminds me of PACO (Palo Alto Chamber Orchestra) Camp. It's hard not to to be nostalgic of the place where I attribute the majority of my musical growth. For four summers, I traveled to Monte Toyon in Aptos, CA as a member of PACO. Secluded from civilization and outside distractions for a week, it was a time of music making, inspiration, and bonding amongst peers and friends.

Throughout the past few years, there have always been small things, whether it be sounds or smells, that opens long dormant doorways to memories stored in the recesses of my mind. For example, I remember sitting in my dorm my sophomore year of college, performing some preliminary research for an engineering project. Stuffy and warm, I opened the window right next to me. A wave of cold, moist air came through the window, which sent me back in time.

It's my first camp, back in 2001. I woke up at 7AM. My cabin mates, fearing mosquitoes or the night's chill, has hermetically sealed the room. With eight warm bodies contributing their fair share of carbon dioxide, the room became incredibly warm and muggy. I got out of bed, threw on a jacket and went outside, where I was somewhat rudely welcomed by the chilly fog nesting above the decades old redwood trees that guarded the campsite. Breathing in the cold, moist air, my nose quickly became numb trying to acclimate to the two drastically different environments. I start to walk, down the small hill, eventually sticking right onto the gravelly path instead of the paved one; for some reason, I've always preferred the gravel path. Even the crunch, crunch-ing beneath my feet sounds musical in this place. Under the overhang of branches, I continue until I approached the end of this path. It was at this time, every morning without fail, I would hear the tink tinkerings of the piano in Helgesson Hall. Paul Hersh (does he ever sleep?) is up already, practicing music to be featured later on in that day's masterclass or music he is performing at a music festival the week after. I would take a seat right next to the entrance to the hall, close my eyes, and surreptitiously listen in on his playing. It's my little secret my first few years of camp. I had the pleasure of waking up every morning listening to Paul Hersh play piano.

***

There are times when, if my mood is right, listening to pieces I've listened to dozens of times would remind me of PACO Camp. The first movement of the Brahms G Major Sextet, with its beautiful and ethereal quality, still reminds me of looking up at the darkened sky amongst the towering redwoods, constantly hiding being fogged behind my cold breath. The first movement of Schubert's Eb Quartet reminds me of the sunny times at camp, when everyone is smiling and it was a pleasure just to be in the presence of friends. The slow movement to Beethoven's Op.18 No.1 reminds me of my pubescent brooding that sometimes comes due to one drama or another. But, no matter what, the piece that I remember the most vividly, is the performance of the Mendelssohn Octet.

It was the Friday of camp in 2001, right after lunch time. It had not been a full two days since news spread that the founder, Bill Whitson, has passed away. Emotions were still running raw. However, instead of letting the campers grieve, the counselors wisely opted to break the somber atmosphere by celebrating the essence of PACO Camp. As cheesy at it sounds, the power of chamber music and friends will heal all. Eight of the counselors rounded up eight student volunteers, and together, they sightread the Mendelssohn Octet in front of the whole camp. The opening, so ebullient, so joyous, broke everyone out of their reverie and its conclusion drew the loudest cheers and applause I remember hearing at camp. Ever since then, that piece has remained dear to my heart.

***

Someone once aptly described PACO Camp as my Neverland. Indeed, I feel cheated that I was only able to attend four camps as a camper where my friends have attended upwards to ten. Fortunately unfortunately, Neverland doesn't exist and we all have to grow up sometime.

It's been three years since my last visit. The dynamics of camp has undoubtedly changed. Even the people I used to know there have graduated or transferred to another orchestra. Will I go back to visit this year? I still haven't decided. This will be the last year to do so though; after this year, the last of the remaining members of camp will be gone. Who knows? It would be nice to be amongst the redwoods again, sightreading the night away.

Artist Portrait: Sol Gabetta

Sol Gabetta. Even the name rolls off the tongue mellifluously. From her website, we find that this 29 year old Argentinean cellist, who is of French and Russian descent currently residing in Switzerland and continuing her cello studies in Berlin, has a couple of accolades to her name. She has won the International Tchaikovsky Competition (including the Natalia Gutman prize for best musical interpretation) and the ARD competition in Munich. However, the Crédit Suisse Young Artist Award that she won in 2004 was the launching point for her career. Along with a sizeable prize money of 75,000CHF (around $72,000), she also won a concerto performance with the Lucerne Festival Orchestra under Valery Gergiev. Since then, her stock has continued to steadily rise.

Yet even with all these accomplishments, it is surprising that she is still relatively unknown amongst my musical friends. Granted, I had not heard of her either until a few months ago when I picked up her new recording of the Elgar Concerto. Like most people, I had assumed nobody was ever going to surpass Jacqueline du Pré's legendary 1965 recording. So I approached the recording more out of curiosity rather than trying to find a Goliath-slaying interpretation that would usurp du Pré's. Much to my surprise, that was exactly what I found. For the first time in a long time, I sat through the whole concerto, riveted and overwhelmed. The opening of the concerto feels like a punch in a gut; the sound is so penetrating and visceral. The wickedly difficult second movement is effortless in her hands. She plays with such lightness in touch and variety of colors that it felt like I was hearing the music for the first time. The way she paces the moments in the last movement before the opening recitative returns is incredibly affecting. I still get goosebumps and chills every time she finally replays the recitative. The other pieces on the CD (Dvorak Rondo, Respighi Andante con Varizioni, and a few Elgar miniatures) are also gems amongst the diamond.

Fascinated with her playing, I went out and bought her debut recording. My favorite recording of Tchaikovsky's Rococo Variations and Saint-Saens Cello Concerto No.1 has been, for the past 10 years, Han-Na Chang's own 1996 debut recording. Not only does Gabetta benefit from better recording quality (in terms of acoustics and balance), her playing is more forceful than Chang's without ever sounding forced. It is as if Gabetta is asking the listener to meet her halfway, holding us accountable and asking us to listen with the same amount of emotional investment that she is performing with. Gabetta is a daredevil at times, throwing caution to the wind when the excitement calls for it. For example, the way she attacks those dastardly difficult octaves in the final moments of the coda of the Rococo Variations makes you sit at the edge of your seat.

Thanks to the power of YouTube, there is a great video of her performing the Elgar in its entirety. One of my favorites moments was watching her egg on the cello section in the last movement (0:34 in the third video) with the same abandoned swaying that Jacqueline du Pré was so famous for.