Nathan Milstein: The great re-thinker

Today is a little riff on my usual theme.

Nathan Milstein was one of the great musicians of the 20th Century.

He was a violinist with a golden sound. One who never turned to power when elegance would solve the problem.

He was a performer with a near-spiritual approach. One who planted himself on stage, straight, still, eyes half-closed, and laid down roots of concentration that no natural force could shift.

And despite having one of the greatest techniques of all time, he was a man who chose depth over bravura without fail. One who always searched for greater insight and meaning, rather than wallow in the honey-sweet sounds he made.

(I should say — serious though he may sound — he was also a man whose mischievous sense of humour never left his twinkling eyes. And one whose mouth was almost always raised with the hint of a naughty schoolboy’s smile).

One of Music’s giants no doubt. But also one of its greatest re-thinkers.

When you set aside his aura, he was a small man really. And as age took its toll, he became smaller still. Too short to even keep his bow straight bow as he extended his arm (the holy grail of bowing as every student knows).

The years rolled on and eventually, Milstein faced a choice — struggle against physics and time, his sound becoming weaker and weaker, or simply call it a day?

In the end, he chose neither. He simply invented a new way of bowing. One that involved bowing ‘round a corner’ at the tip of the bow (the cardinal sin as every student also knows), holding the fiddle at an angle found in no textbook, and overall, making a sound every bit as good as in his straight-bowing prime.

Later still, the first finger of his left hand became unreliable, falling victim to the wear and tear of a global concert career that had begun in Milstein’s teens.

Surely this was the cue for a graceful bow into retirement?

Not at all. Milstein just re-fingered every piece he had to play. He put his three good fingers to work, with only an occasional job for the faltering first, and re-learned everything he’d been performing for the past half a century. With glee, I’d imagine.

Anyone that knew his track record shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he had recorded the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in 1940. And again in 1948, complete with new fingerings and bowings. And then again, a further three times, each a total re-think from the ground up.

This was no obsession with Mendelssohn, mind. When my violin teacher would arrive for her lesson, Milstein would almost always be at the piano, head would be bent over the keys. The score of some great masterpiece would be open on the stand and, as usual, he’d be doing what he did best. Re-inventing Tchaikovsky, Sibelius and Bruch, though he’d played them a thousand times, and delighting in defying expectations yet again.

As any artist will tell you, more than enough blood, sweat and tears goes into a single passable interpretation. Let alone five.

Later, over dinner, she would sit bewildered as Milstein and his wife slipped in and out of countless languages learned over a lifetime of world travel. The talk would turn to Paris, so French would become the norm. Then matters would switch to Brahms, and, naturally, German would be called for.

To think this was all for show would be wrong. This was just another result of the great re-thinking. The product of a mind that needed to learn not only each piece but its language, its inner workings, its composer’s thoughts from the inside out.

Ultimately, this tireless quest fuelled one of the longest careers in history. Even as Milstein turned 80, his playing remained impeccable, a feat that even the greatest violinists have struggled to replicate.

And when his career did finally end, it wasn’t his technique or hearing that gave way, but his wrist that broke after a heavy fall.

Thankfully, Milstein’s last performance, a recital in Stockholm, was recorded. It’s a monument to everything I have written about.

The sound.

The commitment.

The focus.

The sheer honesty of approach.

And, of course, the genius behind it. The wonky bow that sounds better than any prodigy’s ruler-straight best. The first finger curled up safely out of harm’s way.

I hope you can listen to the whole thing. But this is a 15-minute blog and I am a man of my word. So start with my favourite moment. The Allegro Assai from Bach’s 3rd Sonata.

Countless times, I’ve watched the video — photos of a young, laughing Milstein dissolving into moving images of his last few notes. My awe never fades. Awe for that sound. For the bow control that makes the Allegro sound like two violins at once. And for how so much joy can still live in and pour out of one extraordinary octogenarian.