John Mack
received an Honorary Doctor of Musical Arts degree at the May
23, 1992 commencement of the Cleveland Institute of Music, in
recognition of his twenty-seven years as first oboist of the Cleveland
Orchestra and as head of the oboe department at the Cleveland
Institute. Also honored were Mildred Miller of the Metropolitan
Opera, and Henry Roth, violinist, critic, musicologist, lecturer,
and author. John Mack delivered the Commencement Address, portions
of which follow:President Cerone, Distinguished Guests, Members of the Graduating Class, Trustees, Faculty, Alumni, Parents and Friends:
On this memorable occasion I would like to share with you some of my views on the subject of music, several aspects of which concern us all.
Speaking of sharing, we share this space for obvious reasons. Our regard for music and its call to us are our common bonds - they create our community of music, so to speak.
I am feeling quite philosophical at this moment. By nature I frankly adore questions (as my students can easily testify). They sometimes elicit from the depths thoughts and observations not near the surface, but yet I would quail at the prospect of any personal assessment of "What is Music?"
We know its power and enchantment. We feel its emotional forces upon us, and acknowledge freely that it occupies a place in our lives that is so special and unique that it defies description and does not permit its replacement by any other field of endeavor. In view of all this we must consider some other thoughts.
Man's bestial behavior towards his fellow man seems to have been with us since prehistory, and shows ever only momentary signs of abating. All manner of natural disasters visit the planet regularly as if to test our resiliency and resolve. In spite of all that mankind seems determined somehow to move on and up.
We have as examples the wisdom of certain individuals over the span of time, the bravery of those who would dare to extend our boundaries of knowledge outwardly or inwardly. We cannot overlook those displays of incredible personal courage to confront dangers and evils of every sort. But those examples are not enough to sustain us through the generations; we need other things, be they religion or philosophy or morality.
Art is a beacon, and music happens to be our special beacon. (I wonder if there is a relationship between the words beacon and beckon?) Music most assuredly does sustain us, and beguile and nourish us. What kind of void would be in its absence? Not a pretty thought.
So it falls to us to do what it is that we can do. Our contributions to the cause of music can take so many forms and go in so many directions.
To start, let us consider these giants who have preceded us - so many of whose names began with the letter "B" - who have given the world music that is permanent. I believe that the word "classical" is supposed to apply to such music. To that blessed heritage is being added more all the time, some of which may even achieve that exalted state.
Since I come to you as a player and a teacher, however, my concerns must need be with what I can do to aid and abet our cause. It has been clear to me for quite some time that there are three key elements in the ongoingness of music, three elements essential to the ongoingness of all the arts, and the sciences too.
The first obvious one is talent, and of that there is no shortage whatsoever. It arrives from the four corners of the earth as from an eternal spring, and shows no signs of letting up.
The second is much more threatening, and that is the imperative that our world not destroy itself; it demands our concern, dedication, and hope. We seem to have dodged a bullet with the end of the east versus west matter, but the game does go on.
The third element is the one that all of us here today, you and I, can have some small hand in. And that is the passing on - by word and deed - of what is most precious to us about music.
I always considered playing my first love of music, and teaching my second, though they seem to be blending somewhat. But they are both avenues of sharing, hopefully, the best of what we have learned and received from others, and thereby making it possible for not only the masters of composition to enrich our lives, but also the masters of performing and teaching to inspire us beyond their time.
I fully intend to share a few potent nuggets with you, and at the same time try my best to persuade you to aim as high as you can, even though the target may yet appear beyond range.
We do have an alarming abundance of mediocrity - there is no need to add to it. What we need is elevation. Transposing this to school days means to me that the students striving to team and to team to do must extend themselves towards the demands put to them by their teachers. Students need not necessarily believe what their teachers believe, but they must be able to realize the detailed demands which of themselves will develop in them the discipline and skills needed to grow.
Having been privileged to be a contributing member of our great orchestra for the past 27 years I am well aware of what the fruits of detailed demand can be. Five years with George Szell was an eye-opening experience! He increased your awareness on so many levels and in so many directions as to make you wonder where you had been before.
Also in observing from the inside how an artistic body of that magnitude can survive and flourish over time, despite the gradual changes in personnel in the orchestra - and even on the podium - I have been brought to appreciate beyond words the value of collective stewardship.
These same past 27 years with this Institute have given me the parallel opportunity to share what I have received with so many fine talented young people - and I would not fail to mention the similar dedication I find right here in my faculty colleagues.
This is all very nice, but what you need is advice! So first, a few of those nuggets - a few words from the past.
From Pablo Casals, an artist who could practically move mountains, succinct advice for music-making (or substitute what you would): "Freedom, yes, but with order; order, yes, but with freedom."
From Alexander Hilsberg, our conductor in New Orleans years ago, reminding a young oboe player that the piece did not finish with his solo!
From George Szell, pronouncing his own epitaph to the first violins in rehearsal, "I want this phrase to sound completely spontaneous - however, as the result of meticulous planning."
And from my teacher, Marcel Tabuteau, growing impatient with my lack of a hasty reply to his question, "Mack, what do you think I consider to be my greatest gift?" His answer: "Not my talent, not my tone, not my technique, not my coloration, not my imagination, but my ability to get myself back on the track when I get off!"
So then, here are my words for you: