Sara Sant'Ambrogio

Hi! I'm very well, thank you. Thank you for inviting me.

Yeah.

Yeah. You know, I grew up—my family has been classical musicians for 800 years. I mean, my father was principal cello of the St. Louis Symphony for 35 years. When I was born, he was in the Boston Symphony. Um, and then my grandparents were—my grandfather was a violinist and violist in a string quartet with Joseph Gingold, who was um, Josh Bell's teacher among many great violinists. Actually, Gingold—I didn't know this, but I did a competition when I was like 18 years old, and Gingold was a judge. And he came up to me afterwards, and he said—he introduced himself to me (laughs). And, and he said, "I don't know if you know, but I was the best man at your grandparent's wedding." I was like, "What?! I had no idea."

And my grandmother was a pianist, and it just goes back and back and back. And, so I sort of grew up very influenced by um, the old Russian style of string playing. Which was full-throated, full-body, and um, and also, though my father studied with Leonard Rose, so you wanted to sculpt it. I think of cellists as sculptors.

You know, because the sound is so thick, you need to grab the core and then just sculpt it. I feel like it's such a human voice that you need to push it as far—to the farthest extremes to be able to express the complete human condition, and the huge tapestry of emotions that we're trying to evoke in this music. And also, I think from—it was interesting, somebody saw—there is a Sammy Davis Jr. on PBS uh, documentary, which is quite interesting. And in it, they say, someone says, "The safest place for Sammy Davis Jr. was on stage." And a friend of mine said, "I've heard you say that a million times. I thought of you when I saw that documentary." And it's true, from the time I was tiny, this—I felt like on stage was the safest, most perfect place in the world, because there you could create the world the way you wanted it to be, and no one could change that until you walked off the stage. So, you could—and if there's something almost magical, almost alchemy, about how you can through music on stage, you can take really ugly, painful traumas from your life, and you work them through into the music, and it transforms them into something so beautiful, and the audience and you have this moment of healing together. They realize they're not alone. This artist, this composer, they felt those same emotions I was feeling, and there's a healing and a redemption to it, which is almost magical. So, for me on stage, I, I never want to play it safe, because I, I feel like every time you're on stage, it is this gift, and you can never take it for granted, because you may never be able to do it again. So, each one has to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. For me, and for—I want the audience to feel that way, too.

Yeah. Yeah.

Never, never live, but I...

Really? When she played Elgar?

Yeah.

Oh! It's so great! And I have to actually remind myself, uh, "Stay in the moment, stay in the moment," because I get so wrapped up in that moment. I just got chills, actually, when you were tal—when I was just thinking about it. I got it all down my legs and my arms.

It's such a great moment. I mean, it's so beautiful! And, and it's like you're riding this incredible wave of emotion, and then on top of it, the violin comes in, and it's just like—it's so triumphant. It's brilliant on his part. He's just brilliant. And, and so I, I do find—and I just love when, you know, it's interesting, 'cause when I was younger, and I was first performing the piece, uh, there was a little bit of a different, um, mindset among orchestral musicians. They were very serious. And so, I would be looking over at them like, (gasps) like this, and they'd be like, (stares blankly) like this, you know? And I'd be like, "No, no, look at me, look at me, please! I want this connection," you know? And now, it's great, because I'll look over, and the, the concertmaster is looking at me like a soloist is playing, looking right up into my eyes, you know?

And it's just fantastic. It's awesome. It's also like, another moment that is just stunning, of a duet again, is the slow movement of the Schumann, which you just mentioned. And that is—that is to me one of the most heartbreaking moments ever in music. Just, and, it's funny because I was playing it at some point with the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia, and, um, they filmed it for those Spectra, those like movie showings of concerts. And in, in the slow movement, you hear me go, (groans), like... (laughs).

Or piano.

Ever written. In that—I know, I know.

Well, you know, I always heard this story from my dad that um—and I, and actually, recently I read it somewhere else—was that um, that Brahms heard the Dvořák concerto and said, "If I knew you could write for the cello like that, I would have written a cello concerto." And then he died like, like a...

And I'm like, "Wait a second, but all the great composers—I mean, look at Johann Sebastian Bach. In 1720, he decided to write six unaccompanied suites, and he picked not the violin or the piano at, you know, or, or the king of the lower string instruments, which was the viola da gamba. He had written three sonatas for viola da gamba and harpsichord. No, he picked the cello, which was like this poor, illegitimate, stepchild, second cousin three times removed, you know? But he knew that one day that was going to be the dominant lower string, 'cause he was a genius. And I'm like, Brahms, you said you centered at the—at the piano and communed with God, well, God was telling you, write a cello concerto! Why, why weren't you listening, you know?

Yeah. Well, I did just get an amazing cello concerto written for me by the American composer Bruce Wolosoff, which I recorded with the Royal Philharmonic.

Yes, it's—I mean, it's so, ah, it's so romantic and so heartbreaking. Uh, I think he just did an amazing job. We're up for um, two Grammys this year with it: uh, Best Contemporary Classical Composition and Best uh, Classical Instrumental Solo.

Yeah.

Oh my gosh. So, uh, Erika Nickrenz, the pianist, she came to my family's music camp, which was called Red Fox Music Camp. It was in the Berkshire Mountains, and my grandmother was a huge piano teacher on the East Coast. Um, she had been a protege of Arthur Rubinstein's. And um, she—and so, Erika came to study with my grandmother. And Erika and I were like the complete opposite as personalities. I was always in trouble, I was always getting busted for something, I was—I was, I was like the rebel without a cause.

And um, and she was so good, I mean she was just such a good girl. So, they'd put us together hoping she would rub off on me. Didn't quite work that way. (Laughs) I think, (laughs) I think I corrupted her more than she like, smoothed off my rough edges. But we started playing at 12, and we realized that when we played together, there was just this absolute synergy. It just, we just—it was just, I don't know, it was just—we just approach performing the same way, we, we approach music in so many of the same ways of, how pushing the expression to the most passionate way you can express it, and never taking anything for granted. She is an extraordinary chamber music pianist, because she has the chops and the charisma when she's got the solo to come out like a great soloist, but the second somebody else does, she's just right there underneath you, supporting you, catching you, creating the beautiful cushion for you to shine. And, and that's very unusual.

So, the violinist, Adela Peña, and um, Erika had started playing together when they were nine years old, like three years before me, 'cause they went to—they both grew up in Greenwich Village, New York City, and they um, uh, were went to this music school uh, called Greenwich House.

Uh, right, which a lot of people apparently went to, so, so did Bruce Wolosoff, the composer of the cello concerto. Um, and so they started playing together when they were nine years old. And then um, so then, cut to Erika and I have been playing together for a couple of years um, at my family's music camp, and then my family finally had it with me and kicked me out of my own family's music camp. (Laughs) I was just, you know, the good thing was, I was sowing all my wild oats at like 12 and 13 years old, so...

Yeah, exactly, (laughs).

No, I, you know, I um, I did sing in the church, I...

I, I did sing in the church choir as a kid, um, but no, I, I just always felt like when I play, I want it to sound like it's just coming out of my heart, and there just happens to be a cello in between my legs, but that it's just—and so then, like for me, if you wouldn't sing it that way, then you shouldn't play it that way. You know, it's just, um, so, you know, I would, in fact, I was just teaching a lesson on the Schubert Ave Maria, and I, and I said, "It's—it sounds like you're taking a breath before the moving notes. No singer would ever do that." And, and they're like, "You're right!" You know, so, um, actually, interestingly, though, I've started to sing um, because I was asked to play um, a couple years ago I was asked to play the Pēteris Vasks's Dolcissimo uh, at Lincoln Center seven times. And, when I got the music, I was like, "Pooh, I've never seen anything like this." I was like, uh-huh, I'm supposed to be playing and singing? And I, and so, the funniest thing was my brother happened to be in New York during one of the concerts and came. And he, and afterwards, he was like, "What the heck, Sara? When did you learn how to sing?" He said, "I'm watching you, you're in this pool of light on this empty stage, and you're playing this piece, and and all of a sudden, I hear this like Vienna Boys Choir boy soprano singing, and I'm looking everywhere for, for where... (laughs), yeah, and then he said, "And then all of a sudden, you put your head back, and I realized that sound was coming out of your mouth." And I was like, "Yeah, I mean, you just—I'm a musician, so you learn how to sing to, to evoke whatever it is that you're trying to do." I enjoyed it so much that then I started um, actually Michael Bacon has written a new cello concerto for me that I was supposed to be doing the world premiere of in like three days. And, actually, right now, I'm supposed to be in London performing the Elgar with Royal Philharmonic, and then two days from now, I was flying back to the States, and then next week doing the Michael Bacon. Of course, it's all canceled. But I'm just more adding, I'm adding voice into stuff, and Michael put voice into it, and it's fun. It's just beautiful and you can add all these things, you know.

And, and then...

Yeah. Absolutely. I mean, I mean, I, I've talked about that many times, like in the press. Like, being a classical musician, you have to have the eye-hand coordination of Roger Federer. You have to have the speed of Usain Bolt. You have to have the mathematical skills of Einstein, and then you have to be this charismatic performer like Meryl Streep, you know? And you have—and you have to do it all simultaneously.

Which is crazy. Uh, but I also think, you know, the touring life, um, you know, I mean, I've had, oh my gosh, I've, I've—three weeks after I gave birth to my son, I went on around the world on tour with the baby, you know. You—I mean, I've had decades where I was playing 150 concerts worldwide a season, so you're on the road constantly. You have to have a strong, physical body to be able to sustain that constant pushing and pushing, and lifting suitcases, and cellos, and running through airports, you know, and, and then you also...

Oh my gosh, I know. I keep a PDF on my phone of the FAA ruling. But yeah, I, I have to say, I've had less trouble than most people, because I find you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. So, I come in smiling, I've done this a million times, "Oh, thank you so much," and, and, "bla-bla-bla-bla-bla," and, "Oh, yes, I can do this," and, and then, you know, and so they kind of go, "Well, I don't even know what the heck," and I just walk right by.

I know, I used to hide it. I used to be—when I had—before I bought my cello, which I have now, which is a really fine instrument, I had this—for years, I had this orange New York cello, and I just couldn't spend the money on a plane ticket, so I would like bring it in and they'd go, "Oh, you can't..." I'd be like, "Oh yes, it's an oboe." Oh, and they'd look down the list, "Oh yeah, oboes." And then I would just go in and like pop it into like through the, wedge the door, or I would go into the bathroom, put it in the bathroom, shut the door.

Yeah, I know. Well, I haven't done that for ages.

Yeah, oh, it's such a great piece, so much fun.

I feel like it's a great piece because it's unbelievably well-balanced. It's um, it's—each movement really builds to the next. It has exactly the right combination of pathos, of heartbreak, of joy, and hope, and virtuosity. And, um, and it even has—like the last movement has some serious like Spanish flare to it, which I think is because of the Spanish flu, because he was writing it right then.

But um, yeah. So, it's just—it's so—it just gets—it allows you, in a very succinct period of time—it's like 32 minutes long, 30 maybe 34...

Yeah, it's so succinct in that he, he just encompasses this massive range in such a short period of time. It took Dvořák 45 minutes to do that, you know? And, and, so, I just find like there's not one second of wasted time.

Yeah.

Oh, for sure, yeah.

Well, it's interesting because it's—that's an interesting question because it's not really I'm thinking, because I've al—I've spent so many years—I mean, I've been playing music since I was two. I started piano at two. I was playing the two-part inventions by four, you know, and, of Bach. And then I switched to cello at six, but continued playing piano until I was about 17, 18. Um, but now completely lost it. I still sit down and play Bach on the piano because it's just—there's nothing

I know. And I put myself—I, I, after I finish my cello practice, I then go to the piano and play for like a half an hour Bach. I just—it's a wonderful way to just like bring down the day and then move forward to the evening. But I don't, so I think—

Yeah, so, it's, there's, okay, first of all, there's like your—like an artist's palette, you know. So, if it was Monet, it's going to have certain colors that he's going to have on his palette. Um, and it's the same thing with periods of music. I'm not—I'm going to use a very different vibrato as my basic vibrato, though every single note I'm changing the vibrato depending on what that note is trying to tell the audience.

But it's going to be—but that palette for Elgar is entirely different than for Bach, or Haydn, or even Beethoven. You know, there's just—and you don't even have to think about it anymore because you know what periods you're in, and then you approach it with that palette that is just innate in you now, you know? And, so it's, I mean, to me, I, I don't know, something about music has always just spoken to me like I just could see it. The second I'd see a score, I just knew exactly what I wanted to do with it. I would look at it and know, without even playing it, I knew how I could see the architecture, and I just—I knew exactly what I—I already saw what I wanted to do.

Yeah. Well, I have to say that um, I think that I have absolutely the best of both worlds. Um, I think that um, when I play—like, well, Schumann concerto, particularly, when I play Schumann concerto, that last movement is like a concerto grosso, really.

It's so much back and forth between the strings, and then cello solo, strings, cello solo, strings, you know, the violins. Da-da-da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da, you know. So, that chamber music feel creates a tightness, and um, I'm reacting to them, probably a little bit more so than most cello soloists who don't play in chamber music on a daily basis.

And it, and, to me, that's like the—it's just so—it's so great. Like I can't imagine not, like, it's, you know, and then with the trio, um, you know, it's the same thing, when you're um, when you are in a trio, it's interesting, when we play Beethoven Triple Concerto, which we've played more than any other trio in the history of the concerto, actually, somebody told me that.

He did what?

I know, I know. I know, I know. And, I know. And so, but, you know what my first thought, when I first played it, as a little kid?

Because in Missouri, we were like 20 years behind, TV-wise, of everybody else, I was like, (sings melody) with those feet, My Three Sons. And when I was, when I first was a kid, and at one point I was rehearsing with an orchestra, and they said, "Where do you want us to start?" And I said, "Why don't we start at the My Three Sons part?" And the whole orchestra just burst out laughing. Whereas now, like, nobody knows that reference, you know.

Yeah. But, it's so much—I have to say, playing the Triple Concerto is so much fun, because you are keeping track of so many lines. It's not just the soloist's line and the orchestra's line. It's two other soloists besides you, and the orchestra. So, it's just—I, it's, to me, it is, I just am so high when I'm doing that.

It is. It's so fun, and just that throwing those lines back and forth between the orchestra and two other soloists. It's super, it's, you know, it's just, it's like you're juggling so many balls, and it's just so much more exciting.

Yeah.

You know, I, I, I've always—as a kid, I so admired Casals and Rostropovich for commissioning so many works. I've commissioned a lot of music at this point, and still continuing to commission a lot. The thing that basically I'm looking for is a piece of music that's expressing an emotion, if not more than one emotion. And sometimes when people deliver stuff, I look at it and go, "It's not for me, because this is an intellectual exercise, and there's nothing for me to sink my teeth into, and I can see it just looking at the page." Then I'll force myself, due diligence—it's like when you're dating, and you have a first date and you're like, "No." I always say, "Okay, I have to, I have to let—make myself do a second date, because I don't want to be too judgmental." So, when I get a piece of music, I look at it and go, "It's not for me," because I don't see anywhere where I can start to pull out the humanity of mankind. Um, I'll still force myself to dig into it and work it out, but I'm like, "It's an intellectual exercise, and it's not..." I wish that cello music particularly, and all music, would go even more into an emotional place, a place where it's expressing even more emotion. Because, that's what keeps music alive, you know? Not intellectual exercises. It's what, how it speaks to humanity. That's why 300 years after Bach wrote those cello suites, we still are discovering things in it. It's still, you know, I was saying that to me, I was sick as a dog with that coronavirus, and the second I could literally like drag myself out of my bed, I went to the cello and started playing Bach. Because I knew that it was going to make me feel this hope for the world, this, this sense of mankind's perfection, and um, and even though like my hands felt like they've been run over by a Mack truck—I mean, I was in so much pain—I still found I was smiling as I was playing it, Bach, the four—I was playing the Fourth Suite.

Ah! What a masterpiece, yeah.

Thank you so much.

Oh, thank you so much for having me. It was such a pleasure speaking with you. It was really fun.