The Late Starters Orchestra by Ari L. Goldman Page A

demonstrate what he was looking for. Gilbert, who took over the orchestra in 2009 at the age of forty-two, seemed decidedly at home. But that was no wonder since both his mother and father had careers as violinists with the Philharmonic. (His father, Michael Gilbert, retired in 2001, and his mother, Yoko Takebe, continues to perform with the orchestra.)
    I was hoping to connect with Milt and his wife at the open rehearsal that morning, but we didn’t manage to meet. Aside from the mornings at Lincoln Center, Milt told me that he practices his violin every day and takes a lesson once a week with his teacher. He plays with the Downtown Symphony one night and with a chamber music group for seniors at the Mannes College one morning a week. “Truth is, I’m not all that good,” he lamented that night we met on the train. “I wish I knew what I forgot. My fingers aren’t that quick. But everyone tolerates me. And I love it.”
    When we reached his stop near Lincoln Center, he said, “Hope I see you again next week, Ari. Good luck with the music.”
    As it turned out, the Downtown Symphony was not the right fit for me. It met on Tuesday nights, which meant I was out of commission on the home front. That wasn’t really fair to Shira, whose public relations business, which she ran alone, seemed to take more and more of her time, often into the evenings. There were dinners to prepare and Judah’s homework—and cello playing—to supervise. But it was more than just a question of timing. The music was a real leap for me. It was well beyond what we were playing at LSO, where we were more likely to tackle four-part arrangements of chamber music than full-blown symphonies. I felt foolish after begging Doug for a place at the Downtown Symphony, but ultimately he was right. It wasn’t for me. I decided to focus on my own playing and on LSO.

SUZUKI
    After Judah gave the cello a kiss on the night I first showed it to him, I started asking around about cello teachers. I was advised not to look for a teacher, but for a method: Suzuki.
    Suzuki is an extraordinary system of musical education for youngsters. It is based on the teachings of Shinichi Suzuki, a Japanese educator and violinist who died at the age of ninety-nine in 1998. Suzuki was committed to the idea that a child can learn music the same way that he or she learns language: through immersion, encouragement, repetition, and small steps. It is sometimes called the “mom-centric” method of music education because of the heavy parental involvement necessary to make it work, but dads are also welcome. From the time Judah turned six, I took him each week to a program near Lincoln Center.
    Judah began with an eighth-size cello, an instrument not much bigger than a violin. But instead of holding it under his chin, as a violinist would, Judah’s teacher taught him how to pull out the end pin and place the cello between his legs. Much to my delight, he took to it. The Suzuki method gently introduces the instrument to the child. First the child learns by ear and only later does he or she learn musical notation. The child begins with something familiar—the letters of the alphabet—rather than notes on a musical staff. An early Suzuki piece might look like this: DDAABBA GGFFEED. AABBCCA BBAACCA. That’s “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
    Judah’s first teacher, a Korean cellist named Sujin, was warm and funny and rewarded him at the end of each lesson with animal stickers on his practice book. She managed to turn everything into a game. Judah played “Twinkle” to death. Who knew there were so many variations, each one with its own rhythm and style but all unmistakably “Twinkle”? She named each one. There was “Ice Cream Twinkle” and “Choo-Choo Twinkle” and “Cha-Cha Twinkle.” After mastering the “Twinkle” repertoire, Judah graduated to songs like