Violinist dances baroque
With a violin made in 1720, Katherine Kyme exudes joy
Most folks don't think of baroque music, such as a sinfonia by Pergolesi, as ideal dance material. We might wiggle around a bit to follow familiar nuances of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, but truly dance to it? Not likely. So check out Katherine Kyme, one of the lead violinists and concert masters of the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra in San Francisco. Kyme can barely stay in her chair near the front of the Herbst Theatre stage. She bobs. She sways and rolls, practically gyrates. Kyme rocks baroque. Her deep love for the music gushes out of her, splashes down into the audience and washes everyone in refreshing, joyful exaltation.
Actually Kyme doesn't dance alone. The orchestra's music director Nicholas McGegan performs baroque with as much dance finesse as John Travolta pumping disco in Saturday Night Fever. "We go to concerts to watch Nick dance!" Kyme says, laughing.
As concert master, her job is to make sure everybody plays with proper style, bowing technique and commitment to express McGegan's interpretation of the music, Kyme says. "Commitment is the fun part," she notes. Three other violinists rotate through the role of concert master during the season.
Both of Kyme's parents played violin professionally. She grew up in a swirl of classical music, and started weekly lessons at age eight. The youngest of three girls, Kyme was the only one who took violin seriously.
A music student at UC Berkeley, Kyme found a mentor and began to blossom. "I had the luck of having incredibly good teachers early on," she says. She went on to earn a master's degree at Yale School of Music then played with the Seattle symphony for several years. When the San Francisco-based Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra was founded by harpsichordist Laurette Goldberg in 1981, Kyme was hired. "It was democratic back then," Kyme recalls. "In a typical hour, we would argue for fifty-five minutes and play for five." Goldberg hired McGegan as director.
"I love playing," Kyme says. She started the Ester Hazy string quartet dedicated to playing all 68 Haydn quartets. "It was daunting, but we did it. It was really fun." Now they're playing works composed by students of Haydn, as well as Mozart and Beethoven. "Haydn was brilliant," she says. "His influence was wide."
"I was in love with that instrument. It had such personality and depth. It was quirky."
"Sometimes I play viola, but I don't tell many people that," Kyme says. "Violas are the butt of every musical joke." She has two violins, her favorite made in Milan by Carlo Antonio Testore in 1720. She had another Testore violin that burned in the Oakland hills fire. "I was in love with that instrument. It had such personality and depth. It was quirky. This one, not as quirky or responsive, is like a Cadillac—loud, full, with a lot of power. I have to rein it in!"
A violin, if played regularly, responds as if its wooden cells have encapsulated music made three centuries ago. When in tune, her first Testore would resonate with marvelous richness. "It had been played well," she observes. "The wood remembers. It's alive. I have more respect for wood than I've ever had." Unless mistreated, violins do not wear out. Bows must be replaced every century or so.
Kyme plays Handel's Messiah several times every holiday season. "It's a masterpiece," she says. "I'm not tired of it. I always find something new about it, something that grabs me."
For Kyme, music becomes passion. With new pieces, "I am enraptured sometimes," she says. "It's astounding. I sink into the music. I am not shy about my involvement in music, being demonstrative about it. The more you get into the groove of musical passion, the more your spirit expands, the more you love it. It's self-perpetuating joy."
She also conducts the string prep division of the California Youth Symphony with students aged eight to fourteen. "I wave my arms around to get them to make music, more gorilla behavior than conducting," Kyme says, laughing. "I am so enthusiastic, they can't help but respond. I see them loving it. Boy is that satisfying!"
Her husband is a conductor, violinist and composer. Ensconced in her world of music, she plays up to 120 concerts in a typical year. "I wallow in music. Sometimes I think I'm missing out on other disciplines," she says. But she doesn't have time to step outside her beloved profession. "It's maniacal! It takes all my attention."
"It has to be rigorous as well as free at the same time. That's the tightrope."
"The only bad thing about being a musician and having a family is that you can't always be home," she says. At least most classical concerts end by 10:00 p.m.
"It has to be rigorous as well as free at the same time. That's the tightrope," Kyme says. "If I'm to err on one side, it would be to think too technically, too analytically, too cramped to be free. My performing mantra is to let go, not clench up."
Her starting place for each new piece is to master its details with precision and accuracy. "Then I can let the spirit move me," Kyme says. "Some parts of a piece are scary because I don't know if I am going to be successful or not. Those are the times I tend to let the spirit go and concentrate on mechanics. It's stage fright. Oh my god, there's that horrible measure again! I can't breathe! My heart races." At such times in performance, she focuses on individual movements of every finger.
She learns each piece so well that it becomes kinetic memory, stored in her hands. "You don't want to choke," Kyme says. "Let the body take over the memory of it and let it go."
Recently she tackled one of the hardest quartets of her professional career. "I have practiced that thing for four hours a day, every day for a month," she says. "It's a lot of hours." Before her first performance she will have played the piece some 250 times. "I think it's going to be ready," she says. "I don't want to peak too soon. I don't want to be blasé about it or lose its brilliance."
—James Dunn
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