Classical Music: Out of Bounds

The world is generously supplied with prodigious cellists. But ask which of them is as comfortable with Jimi Hendrix as with J.S. Bach, and you're likely to hear just one name: Matt Haimovitz.

Born in Israel and reared in the United States, Haimovitz has been pushing the boundaries of his profession for most of the past decade. He's in the Twin Cities this weekend for two free concerts with the Minnesota Sinfonia and a solo gig at the Dakota. I caught up with him in Montreal, where he now teaches; the cries of his 1-year-old daughter punctuated our phone talk.

Q This is the second consecutive year you've played with the Minnesota Sinfonia. You must enjoy working with them.

A I do. I identify with their mission of bringing symphonic music to audiences that wouldn't normally come to a concert hall, and I really enjoyed the atmosphere of their concerts, the informality of them, as well as the programming. Though I'm not a huge fan of free concerts ...

Q Why?

A I've had experiences where you give things away and it brings out the worst in people. But beyond that, I think that what musicians do has value. This is the way we make our living, and people should recognize that and be willing to pay something, even if it's just the price of a cinema ticket. But I have to say that the Sinfonia handles everything really beautifully. When free concerts are done right, they work.

Q You've been in the upper echelons of classical music for 20 years, yet you're known for playing in rock clubs and coffeehouses. What's the attraction of those bookings?

Now I'm following a path toward reconciling those two worlds. Going back to the concert hall, I'm bringing the discoveries I've made in alternative venues -- the sense of chemistry in the room, the liberating quality of changing what I play from night to night -- and opening them up to new contexts.

Q Why don't more classical musicians appear in alternative venues? Is the pull of the concert hall really that strong?

A I remember being in St. Louis, in a club called Frederick's Music Lounge. It was a little seedy: The promoter had lingerie from his exploits, panties and things, hanging from the ceiling. And there I was, playing Bach and new American composers. A student musician in his 20s came up to me and said, "This is an amazing experience, but I couldn't risk ruining my reputation by playing here." I just don't think it works that way. Playing in places like Frederick's makes us rethink what we're doing musically. It provides an immediate connection that's very human. Music shouldn't be put on a pedestal; it should be part of everyday life.

Q Tell me about the music you're doing with the Sinfonia.

A There are two new works. One is a world premiere: "Max's Moon," by Luna Pearl Woolf -- two short movements based on children's stories. It's a setting for cello and orchestra of pieces originally for piano. The first is a lullaby, from the story "Goodnight, Moon," which we read to our daughter every night, and the second is from "Where the Wild Things Are." The other new work is Stephen Dankner's "Out of Endless Yearnings: a Klezmer Fantasy," which I've just premiered in Albany.

A Not like the clarinet or fiddle, no. But there is a place for it in klezmer music. In Dankner's piece I take on various roles: sometimes I sound like a clarinet, sometimes like a fiddle. Other times I do sound like a cello, which works because a lot of the klezmer genre comes out of the cantorial tradition, and the cello is very well-suited to that.

Q The cello is typecast as songful and romantic. Do you embrace that image of the instrument, or push back against it?

A Of course I embrace it. I think the cello is one of the instruments closest to the human voice -- that's what drew me to it in the first place. I'm constantly striving for my ideal sound. On the other hand, departing from my teacher, Leonard Rose, who could not produce a sound that wasn't of the utmost beauty and refinement, I think of sound as a means to a larger goal. So if I'm playing music that the composer doesn't intend to be beautiful in the traditional sense, maybe something by Shostakovich or David Sanford, or if I'm supposed to sound like an electric guitar in a Jimi Hendrix tune, I won't be afraid to go there. But if I'm playing a Bach cello suite -- well, that's not a good example, because I think those Baroque guys were pretty nuts -- if I'm playing a Mozart trio, let's say, I'm not going to play with a hard-edged sound.

Q At the Dakota you're playing three literary-themed pieces by Pulitzer Prize-winners. How would you characterize them?

A They all make the cello sound really beautiful. For example, "Remembrance of Things Past," the penultimate movement of Ned Rorem's "After Reading Shakespeare," has a rich, gorgeous theme that's very vocally based.