JAMES STRECKER: If you were asked for 50 words for an encyclopedia to summarize what you do, or have done, in the arts, what would you say?
JOËLLE MORTON: Performer and teacher, specializing in historical double basses and violas da gamba.
Curator of the Hart House Viols, artistic director for Scaramella Concerts in Toronto.
Internationally respected scholar and writer, known for internet presence and numerous publications including performing editions and historical studies relating mostly to large bowed bass instruments.
JS: What important beliefs do you express in or through your work?
JM: Playing music and transmitting historical information are forms of direct communication – with dialogue that is both internal to myself, and with others of my musician colleagues, and ultimately with an audience. Pitches and rhythms, as well as words and images, are just the ‘framework’ for communication, and while those things remain more or less the same from one reading to the next, the message(s) that they carry, or that can be found, and the journey(s) that they take, are ever changing. For me, the greatest enjoyment in making music is in that exploration, and the many people that I meet and share experiences with and become close to, as a result.
JS: Name two people, living or dead, whom you admire a great deal and tell us why for each one.
JM: There are so many people, teachers, mentors, family and friends who have influenced me, but the ones I’ll single out here feel particularly meaningful at this particular time in my life. The first is my paternal grandfather, Raymond Fancher Sr. who was one of the most generous and selfless people I have ever known. Though his own life was far from easy, and he never lived above a blue-collar status, he always looked on the bright side of life, and I never heard him express a bad word about anybody. His favourite toast was: “Lucky us” and indeed, I feel incredibly lucky, believing that I inherited some of his positivity and optimism. The second person I’ll single out is Randall Cook, recently retired professor of renaissance bowed instruments at the Schola Cantorum, in Basel, Switzerland. He’s someone I know more from the influence he has had on a number of my friends and colleagues, than from my own personal interactions (though he’s been magnanimous to me on a number of occasions). As a person and as teacher, Randy’s words and actions are filled with immense kindness, enthusiasm and joie de vivre, and those traits are infectious, and further reflected in the words and actions of his many devoted students and friends. He’s a true inspiration to me.
JS: How have you changed since you began to do creative work?
JM: The first decades of my musical training were spent trying to acquire technical skills, so that I could be the ‘mouthpiece through which a composer speaks.’ And I now specialize in early music, seeking to best of my ability, to recreate the sounds and approaches of previous times. But increasingly as I become older, I feel that I have ideas and visions and concepts of my own that I want to express and I feel less and less apologetic for putting my own spin on things.
JS: What are your biggest challenges as a creative person?
JM: Having and maintaining the physical technical skills to bring the music (and writing) to life the way that I hear it in my head. And communicating it in a way that resonates deeply, and positively, with my colleagues and audience.
JS: Please describe at least one major turning point in your life.
JM: The death of my mother when I was 21 made me very conscious of my own mortality, and the importance of not putting off doing things that are genuinely important to me. It may sound trite, but I try to live every day as if there might not be a tomorrow.
JS: What are the hardest things for an outsider to understand about what you do?
JM: Being a performing musician is STILL hard work, and requires hard work, every single day. It may look like it’s easy to the outside world but that’s only because the external world can’t hear the voices inside my head! I practice and think about my craft every day, not just to maintain what I can already do, but to be able to get closer to being able to do, or to do better, all of the things that I can conceive of.
JS: How and why did you begin to do creative work in the first place?
JM: I can’t recall a time when the arts weren’t central to my life – in particular, literature, the visual arts and music, have always been ‘essential’ components of my life. They are like a lens, through which I see and understand the rest of the world. In and of themselves, they bring me huge pleasure. I cannot imagine life without them.
JS: What haven’t you attempted as yet that you would like to do and please tell us why?
JM: I would like to run a marathon. I can visualize what would be involved in ‘being able’ to do it, which is what makes it seem both attainable, and at the same time, completely exhausting and impossible. Perhaps more importantly, this dream goal serves as a metaphor to me, with the idea that if one works hard and methodically, over time one can achieve monumental results. I know that I may never actually run a whole marathon, but if I keep aiming and training for it I’ll have grown stronger, and seen a heck of a lot of the world on my daily runs. All this from the perspective that sometimes the journey itself turns out to be considerably more valuable than the destination.
JS: What are your most meaningful achievements?
JM: There is little that gives me greater pride than seeing the flicker of light that comes on in the eyes when someone is ‘touched’ by an idea, or an image, or a sound.
JS: What advice would you give a young person who would like to do what you do?
JM: There’s very little gratuitous glamour to being a musician or artist. If you can possibly conceive of doing something else with your life, do it. Only go into the arts if you can’t imagine your life without them, and are willing to endure whatever life throws at you for the sake of practicing your art.
JS: Of what value are critics?
JM: They give you an external perspective of how your vision and abilities are received publicly. There are times when that is useful information, and other times when you have to simply grow a thick skin, ignore it and stick to your guns.
JS: What do you ask of your audience?
JM: I don’t have any sense of entitlement as to what my audience might do, but my hope would be that people listen ‘deeply,’ and respond ‘genuinely,’ in whatever way my art inspires them.
JS: What specifically would you change about what goes on in the world and the arts?
JM: I would wish to quash the myth that art is a business and needs to subscribe to a business model in order to be deemed a success. It often costs a great deal of money to be creative: for materials, for the time to gather vision and expertise, and to then present art to the world at large. And while the vast majority of people in the world won’t take the time to think about an artist’s creative process, it’s not fair to overlook it, or undercut it. Not everything of value in the world is created for the purpose of making money. And just because an artist makes their art form ‘look’ easy doesn’t mean it ‘is’ easy.
JS: If you could relive one experience from your creative life, what would it be and why would you do so?
JM: When I was in high school and had been playing the double bass for just a year or two, I went to a dress rehearsal at Massey Hall, where the Toronto Symphony played Dvorak’s New World Symphony. It was the first time I had heard that piece and it was absolutely thrilling to me as the sound filled out into the mostly empty hall, making the wooden seats up in the upper levels rattle. I knew then and there that I had to ‘be part of’ that kind of ‘collective’ sound. Playing music WITH others is so incredibly satisfying! This pursuit has been central to my life ever since, but ah, if only, if only, if only, I could relive the discovery of that simple concept again, for the very first time…
JS: Tell us what it feels like to be a figure who is presented somehow in the media. What effect does this presence have on you?
JM: Actually, I’m shy, and media attention makes me a little uncomfortable! But like anything, the more you do it, the more you get used to it. In spite of that, to this day I still feel like I’m ‘putting on a performance face’ when I am called on to interact with the media. I feel more like the ‘real me’ when I am creating art, rather than when I’m trying to explain it. If I had the ability to say what I need to say in words, I wouldn’t need to play music.
JS: Name two places you would like to visit, one you haven’t been to and one to experience again and briefly tell us why.
JM: I have never been to Venice, and have long wanted to go… perhaps next summer. 16th and early 17th century music and musicians who are associated with Venice are of huge appeal to me, and I would like to walk that city, making myself part of its history.
I would also love to go back to St. Petersburg – I visited it as part of a youth orchestra in 1988 (when it was still called Leningrad) and thought it was the most visually stunning city I had ever seen. No other place has topped it since then.
JS: Please tell us about one or more projects that you have been working on, are preparing, or have recently completed. Why do they matter to you and why should they matter to us?
JM: The last few years my research has centered on the history and music for something called ‘the viola bastarda’ that was written roughly during the period of 1550-1650. This is not a specific type of instrument, per se, but a very virtuosic style of music to be played on a large bowed instrument, and it seems to have been created by household members (and quite a few of them, women) for presentation in private homes. It’s some of the very first abstract music (i.e. not based on a text with words to depict a story), and some of the very first music that was ever ‘presented’ in formal performance, for an attentive and educated audience, outside of the church. I’m extremely intrigued by the ‘people’ who created this music, and the more I learn about them, the more they start to feel like family. I greatly enjoy trying to visualize what they were like as individuals.
JS: Let’s talk about the state of the arts in today’s society, including the forms in which you work. What specifically gives you hope and what specifically do you find depressing?
JM: In early music, it is incredibly wonderful how many documents are coming to light because people know to search for them, and then make them readily available, often in electronic format. It makes research from remote locations like Toronto a lot easier, and offers a performer vast quantities of wonderful music that hasn’t previously been recorded to death. How wonderful to be able to hear things for the first time, and to make one’s own decisions about interpretation! On the flip side, there’s a prevailing attitude right now that with the ease of today’s technology and the internet in particular, that everything should be handed off to the public for free – recordings, musical scores, paintings, etc. The general public now expects to be able to ‘consume’ most art without paying anything for it, which places a huge burden on individual artists to fund themselves. I sometimes despair wondering how artists will survive after a few years of that, when their own private resources run out.
JS: Finally, what do you yourself find to be the most intriguing and/or surprising thing about you?
JM: I don’t know – is there anything intriguing or surprising? You tell me… However, no matter how many years pass, I find there is still an endless supply of things to experience. My hair still stands on end when I listen to music, or read a beautiful passage of literature, or see a fascinating work of art, and these things positively delight me so that I want to jump up and down with sheer joy! But then, I suspect many people who are reading this also feel that way about the arts and things in their lives. That makes us all part of a wonderful and special club. Lucky us!