A Master Leaves His Mark

Two more hours, and 15-year-old Paul Wiancko will open his cello case, which is bedecked with fuzzy dice and peeling stickers from places like Pedros taco stand and rock station KLOS-FM. Two more hours, and with cold hands in a temperate theater, Paul will play for Yo-Yo Ma, the world’s most famous cellist, a 12-time Grammy Award winner.

In a way, Paul plays for Ma every day--Ma’s picture is tacked to the wall he faces when he practices at home in San Clemente. Paul first heard Ma perform live five years ago and could not believe the way that man moved (Ma will have something to say about the way Paul moves, too).

“I never saw anyone play like that before,” said Paul, a sophomore at San Clemente High School. His voice is a shade above a whisper. His words are few; his pauses long.

Paul is a big kid, with soft features and thick, wavy black hair. He has wide hands and long fingers. He has played the cello for 10 years and loves its rich, deep tone that speaks volumes.

Until a few months ago, he never liked to practice. He would play less than an hour a day, which is terrible, he knows, for a serious musician. But when you’re gifted and restless, and the playing comes easily, it’s hard not to blow off the scales and the etudes for e-mail or a Public Enemy hip-hop CD.

By contrast, Ma has told interviewers that he felt cut off from other kids when he was growing up, laser-focused on the cello. Paul’s attention wanders to snowboarding--with wrist guards, of course--and in the summer, he body surfs with his father, Gene Wiancko, 75, a retired documentary film producer.

Two weeks before he performs for Ma, in a master class at the Irvine Barclay Theatre, Paul says he may become a cellist in a chamber orchestra when he grows up. Or maybe an architect, designing Japanese gardens.

But Paul has begun a slow pivot away from ambiguity. In September, he switched to master teacher Ronald Leonard, principal cellist for the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He started practicing at least 90 minutes a day. Distractions started to fall away. Then in early October, Paul got word that he had been chosen--along with three UC Irvine students--to play for Ma.

In the world of classical music, the superstars often speak of a moment that pitched them forward as kids. Ma played for legendary cellist Pablo Casals at age 7. Leonard started taking lessons from the Boston Symphony’s lead cellist when he was Paul’s age.

Paul doesn’t know what to expect.

“Nothing in particular,” he said. “That’s what makes it exciting. I don’t know what I’m going to learn. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.”

Two hours, and Paul will walk on stage with his French cello and a new bow so fine that the maker exhibited it in Paris. In front of 300 people, including his first cello teacher, he will play the first movement of the Concerto in D minor by Edouard Lalo (1823-1892).

Playing the Cello at Age 5

As a baby, his parents say, Paul smiled at Mozart’s sweet sounds; fussed at Hindemith’s dissonant music. Paul’s mother, 54-year-old Hiroko Wiancko, an elementary school teacher, plays the viola and violin. His sister, Michi, 22, plays the violin. Another sister, Marika, 25, plays piano. By the time Paul was 5, he had settled on the cello, which he liked for its size and sound.

Growing up, Paul took private lessons and played chamber music with the family. By age 12, he had put on a tuxedo for solo concerts with Saddleback College’s symphony orchestra in Mission Viejo and with the Jewish Community Center Orchestra at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. Last year, he began playing with the Colburn Chamber Orchestra in Los Angeles. Next year, he will compete in the American String Teachers Assn.’s national competition, as a winner in the state and regional finals.

In September, he beat out eight high school students--all recommended by Orange County music teachers--for a spot in Ma’s master class, which was organized by UC Irvine, the Barclay and the Philharmonic Society of Orange County.

“What we really liked about Paul’s playing,” said Margaret Parkins, a UC Irvine cello professor, “was his depth. He seemed to play from deep within himself, which is very impressive. He seemed very calm and poised. . . . In a way, you can guide someone to find things to express, but it’s something that’s intangible and hard to teach.”

Parkins called Paul with the news.

“I thought, ‘Wow, Yo-Yo Ma,’ ” Paul said.

“Probably first thing after that was, ‘I have to practice more.’ ”

Under Leonard, he had just started learning the Lalo piece, a standard concerto played by most accomplished cellists. It’s a tricky piece, but that’s not the only reason Leonard has him play it. The piece is fiery, passionate.

Students come from all over the world to study with Leonard at USC’s School of Music. (Leonard takes on only a few hand-selected high school students.) In Leonard’s office, Paul’s one-hour lesson usually stretches to 75 minutes. Paul gets off a few notes, sometimes a few bars, before Leonard stops him.

“So what are you thinking of? Any idea what the thumb is doing?” . . . “Can you do it again--a little more lyrical?” . . . “I see no accent on that note.”

Paul says nothing unless asked a question. In pencil, he jots notes on his sheet music; Hiroko videotapes the lessons so Paul can review them at home.

Later, Leonard says it’s good that Paul is weighing his career choices.

“I have a feeling with him, it could maybe go either way,” Leonard said. “But my gut feeling is that cello is the thing for him.”

Two more hours.

For a week, Lalo’s concerto has floated through Paul’s head, usually in math analysis class when he is bored. He memorized the first movement only 10 days ago and worries that he might not have it down pat. But his family and friends say they have noticed no signs of nerves.

All’s Well Except for Short Haircut

At 1 p.m., Paul downs a double cheeseburger and fries at In-N-Out. He slept fine. He feels fine, thank you. Except that he got his hair cut too short, and it bugs him.

Backstage, his mother wishes him luck and then goes to sit in the audience of Barclay patrons and UC Irvine faculty and musicians. Ma, 43, has asked to keep the gathering small. Every two or three engagements, around the world, Ma volunteers to teach a master class, visit schools or hear students play because he thinks it’s important to encourage young people, said his New York publicist. That night, Nov. 18, Ma will play three Bach suites at the Barclay in a sold-out concert.

First, he will hear the next generation.

Ma walks on stage, unannounced, full of bounce and glee, in black Levi’s and a denim shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He does not mention that he has a cold. The UC Irvine students play first: senior Chris Lancaster; senior Elaine Chen and freshman Monica Nguyen.

During the two-hour master class, Ma does not talk much about technique. He talks about what’s in the performer’s head. About not considering failure. About generosity with fellow musicians. He snaps his fingers, plunks a few piano keys, waves an imaginary bow in the air.

When Nguyen finishes, Ma folds up her cello strap and picks up her Bach sheet music for her. He checks his watch. Paul’s turn.

In a black shirt and black pants, Paul and a piano accompanist walk on stage, where Ma awaits under the lights. Ma looks over the music, says play to here--less than half the first movement. Then he slips into the darkness of the audience.

Paul’s hands are freezing. He rubs his right hand on his pants leg. Then he takes a deep breath, plays a few warmup notes and falls right into the music.

Later, Paul will say he was thinking about nothing. He felt the music, as if he were playing at home, in his practice room with Ma’s picture. He played with his eyes closed, his body still, his face blank. Two weeks ago, in practice, he sometimes sounded hesitant or disconnected. Now his music is sure and defined.

At the final note, six minutes later, Paul opens his eyes. It’s over, and he made only a couple of mistakes, he notes later. The applause is warm, sustained.

Ma runs on stage, still clapping.

“Bravo,” he says. “You sounded real good. . . .That’s exciting. Wonderful playing. Good tone, good sound.”

Ma opens his arm in puzzlement.

“So what am I supposed to say to you?” The crowd laughs. Paul grins.

‘OK,” Ma says. “You’re at this very, very high level. So what are you going to do about it?”

Ma prompts him when he doesn’t answer. Think about when to lead, and when to pull back, with the orchestra. Think about each note’s relationship to one another. And think about using the whole body to connect with the music, emotionally and physically.

Music Is Transformed

At one point, Ma bumps Paul from his chair, grabs his cello and plays a couple minutes without looking at the music. People gasp. Ma plays one of the same passages that Paul did, but the music is transformed with his vibrant, sharp style.

Paul tries a few bars, with Ma at his side.

“Try looking at someone--expectantly,” Ma suggests, while Paul plays. With his hand on Paul’s back, he nudges him forward with the music. Crescendo coming up.

“Now go for it! Good! Soarrrr!” Ma hums and his hands sweep with the notes Paul plays. He leans toward Paul and peers into the audience. Romantic part coming up.

“Look into her eyes,” he tells Paul. “It’s a sexy moment.” The audience roars. Paul smiles, keeps playing, looks straight ahead.

Ma spends 20 minutes with Paul, shakes his hand and then walks offstage, with a wave of his hand.

Strangers approach Paul with bravos. One freshman cellist looks at the program and says he will remember Paul’s name. In a year, he says, he could see Paul touring the world. Paul’s mother listens and thanks the student for being kind to her son.

“He got a lot of attention,” Hiroko says later. “Expectations are getting high. It made this event even more special. . . . I’m sure this will have a big impact one way or the other on his future.”

That night, at dinner, Paul relives the master class. Ma almost sat on him! It went by so fast, and he wished he could have played a little more of Lalo’s concerto. He had always liked the piece. But now the sound in his head is different--it is the sound of Yo-Yo Ma playing his cello.

“I didn’t know,” he says, “that you could get such a beautiful sound from my cello. I have a new level to reach and uphold.”

Twenty minutes with a master was enough for Paul to make a decision. How could he veer away from music now, with that sublime sound of his cello in his head?

“I think I will become a musician, now that I think about it,” he says. “I was kind of balancing whether to become a musician or an architect or both, but I guess I’ve just realized that this opportunity doesn’t really come to the average person. I’d be happy doing it the rest of my life.”

The next day, with Leonard, he starts the second movement of Lalo’s concerto.