Maya Beiser

Wonderful to see you, Michael.

Ah, you know, you can't pay too much attention to those things. (Laughs) Um, I mean, people come up with all kinds of— of descriptions. Um, it's okay. (Laughs) I don't— I try not to, um, I try not to to put too much weight into— into either, you know, praises or or otherwise. Um, I mean, if it's— if it's— if it's criticism, I I usually do listen, because I find— I find that that's something that um, I can learn from. But praises, you know, you don't really learn much from. (Laughs)

No. No. There— there's— there's very little. There's very little.

(Sighs) Um, let's see. How do I answer it in a succinct kind of way, 'cause it's— it's a—

There's a lot— there's a lot to say. But... (sighs) you know, I mean... I think that I was um, born with um, a sense of a quest, of— of a sort. And, um, you know, before we started the official interview, we spoke a little bit about— about our background and, you know, maybe it would be good to to— to give you a sense of what my background is, which is such a, you know, and so... I was born in a kibbutz in— in, uh, Israel, in the Galilee. It was um, a socialist kibbutz, um, very left-leaning. Um, we were very much um, in connection with all the different Arab groups that— that surrounded our kibbutz.And my father, who was, um— get this—he was a— a— a gaucho, a Jewish gaucho from Argentina, who— (laughs) who um, moved to Israel bec— you know, was— became a— a socialist communist and moved to Israel to start this kibbutz with a group of Argentinian kids. They were literally kids when they started. Uh, his father came from Russia, from Ukraine. My great-great- great-grandfather was a rather famous writer and who lived with Tolstoy, and um, you know, so they came from a um— and the other side of the family was lineage of rabbis, um, you know, all escaped. They all escaped Russia at the turn of the century and uh, followed the Baron Hirsch, who bought pieces of lands in the middle of the Pampas in Argentina.

Yeah, and brought these guys there, and just kind of— and they're a bunch of Jews, intellectual Jews who knew nothing about land or anything, and they just started this um, this little commune there. Um, and, um, but very soon after, you know, my father's sisters and, you know, all moved to Buenos Aires and, you know, started to study and became um, you know, entrepreneurs or lawyers, and the kind of— the typical Jewish story. My father was the only one who— who moved to Israel and started this kibbutz. And he met my mom 'cause she was his French teacher. My mother's French. But my mother actually, her parents were both from Poland, from this little uh shtetl in Poland. Both very religious. Um, my grandfather, at the age of 18, um, rebelled and moved to Spain to fight against Franco. He was an anarchist. And my— (laughs) grant— grandmother was a communist, also from a little shtetl. How did they even get those ideas? I don't know, but, you know, I think it's just something that runs in our blood.

And it— yeah. And they went to— and she also uh, went to fight, and they were really fighting against Franco, and kind of against each other, but they met in Spain during the Civil War, and fell in love and got married. And then, when Franco uh, went to power, they had to escape. They escaped through the Pyrenees and found themselves in Albi uh, in France, where they sort of settled, and where my mom was born. Uh, when my mom was three, she um— the Nazis occupied um, France. Um, and this was the Vichy area, so my grandparents were beco— both became partisans and they put my mom and her little sister, who was just half a year old, in— in a monastery. Oh my. She was raised by nuns. Um, after the war, you know, she was— they they got her back and um, and my mom ended up, you know, when she was 18, meeting my father and she had me when she was 21.Um, so, I came into this world in a very um, strange way. My mom just came to the kibbutz, it was a little Argentinian community, you know, and they were learning as they went, you know. It was— it was a pretty crazy experiment. You know, they— my mom came from— from uh, the hospital and put me in a— in a baby's house, and from there I went to um, you know, children's house. I never actually slept with my parents. I would only meet my parents in the afternoons for a few hours. And I was, you know, I was a very— a very sensitive kid, and I— so, all I remember from my early years is is kind of crying and not wanting to go back to— to the— to the children's home. And um, yeah, but you know, the one interesting thing that happened was that my father— my father had perfect pitch, and he sort of, you know, uh, we all, all— all the girls in the family— we're four girls, I was the oldest— but he— his— his dream was always to um, to be a musician, which he just— he never had the opportunity to learn. Mhm. And so, he had this uh, record player at home, and those few hours in the afternoon every day that we would— we would meet, that we actually got to spend together, um, the— the activity was listening to music. And so, and I— I spoke about it um, quite a bit, I— I did an album few years ago that I called TranceClassic. Which um, was sort of about this first feeling that I had, that my first memory of what music meant to me, you know? And, and um, and how it— it music was always connected in— in— in my psyche as— as something that is very transcendence and very beautiful and very peaceful, and— and also, you know, just kind of something that hugs you, you know? Because it was th— those moments were just so meaningful for me. And so, of course, I didn't, you know, it— it wasn't an intellectualized kind of thing, because it was just very, very raw. It was— it was pre-verbal, even, Mhm. just that connection that I had to— to music. Um, and, you know, in the kibbutz, everybody started to play an instrument, which is sort of this wonderful thing because um, we happened to have a lot of people there who just, you know, there was this great piano teacher and music teacher and she just wanted everyone to play. And then they, you know, they tested everyone's hearing and they discovered that I had a very good, um, you know, sense of pitch, and so they suggested I play the violin.And I think, you know, there was— as much as there were— there are a lot of magical things in the kibbutz, but from the very moment that I remember thinking about it, I knew that this wasn't the place for me. And I think there was a lot of very traumatic experiences that I had, which really just had to do with the separation with my mother, from my mother, It's fascinating. you know, not being able to be with her and— Yeah. um, and my father. And um, so, I knew I— and, and— and there was this rebellious streak that I had from the very beginning, which was, I wanted um, to find something that was— that was mine, or that was— that was really connected to me. So, when they suggested a violin, I, you know, I said, "No, I— I want to play the cello." And I knew—

Yes.

Right.

The Leah? (Laughs) Exactly. The Leah. The oldest.

Not the rebellious, I know. (Laughs)

And magic happened. You know, I um, I chose the cello and it wasn't so easy because they said, "Well, we can't really have you play the cello, 'cause we don't have a teacher. We only have a violin ch- teacher." And um, then, you know, I was um, advocating for it, and I said, "Well, maybe there's another teacher outside of the kibbutz that I could go to," and it was all of a sudden this great opportunity to go to outside. So, um, they did find a teacher, and I went, and— and I never forget that day. My father um, took me in the bus, you know, and uh, we didn't even have a cello. So, the kibbutz didn't have a cello, but this—

Well, because my father had those beautiful recordings of Pablo Casals, and he would play it for me. Ah. The Bach. The Bach suites, but also some other ones. And so, I loved that— I just loved—

Yeah. And so, I knew that I loved that sound, and I loved the fact that it was big. I was a little girl, and I thought it was so nice to have something that would protect me. (Beiser & Shapiro laugh) Um, and, so, um, I went to that— to that first lesson, and she, you know, the teacher, uh, was this girl who kind of was on a community service, 'cause, you know, the— we were very far from the center, from Tel Aviv, two and a half hours north.

No, it was— it was this little um, city called Afula, which, I don't know if you're familiar, but it's a tiny little city that was the closest city to the kibbutz. It's about 20 minutes uh—

Yes, we were in the Galilee, yeah.

So, we went there, it was a community center, and um, she gave me this little toy cello. Um, and I started to— to play, and, I— and I remember that she— at first she said, "No, you can't use the bow. Um, you just have to to— to to use your left hand." And— and um, I said, "Okay." But, of course, as soon as I got home, I couldn't help but starting to play with the bow. And things, you know, evolved from there very quickly, because it really was like magic. It's like— it was like I discovered this world that I didn't know existed, and I was just— it just made me so happy, you know? So, I just, you know, passionately practiced and played. And— and within a year, I started to, you know, I— I learned um, Vivaldi concertos and all these kind of things—

I was— when I started, I was eight.

Years old. Mhm. And, um— and my teacher pretty quickly after, you know, about six months, said, "You know, I really think you should study with— with um, with another teacher." And, you know, within a year, I um, I started to study with this other teacher, and then— and then moved to— to um, the teacher who was sort of the— the most, you know, important teacher in Israel. His name was Uzi Wiezel. He— he passed away a few years ago. Um, and by the time I was 12, I was discovered by Isaac Stern.

Um, who came— who used to come to Israel to kind of, um, you know, mentor uh, kids.

Yeah. So, I was um— and then I became um, you know, I mean, he very much became my mentor throughout my whole adolescent years, and—

—which was really, really a wonderful, a wonderful thing. And it was not easy um, the kibbutz, I had to fight, um, a lot to kind of have them allow me to even go to certain things, and, you know, it was difficult. It was difficult to um, to carve my way, but it was a good— it was a good— it was a good thing. But, I'm telling you all of this because I think that one of the um, experience that— experiences that I had as— as an artist, and— and there were— I had so many different kind of, I guess, evolution. Mhm. But, I discovered that for me, it's— it's very important to, um— it's not about, you know, it's not about resistance. I believe in resistance in a political sense, and— and, and, you know, i— but I don't think it's— it— I think in— in art, it's about, um, it's about flow. I mean, I guess I— I like to— I like to call it flow, and I think about it a lot, and you know, I think about it a lot now in the context of everything that happened to us during COVID.

Which is, you know, it's like putting yourself, like imagine that you're on a river, you know, and, and— and, and you're— you're— if you're allowing yourself to kind of flow with— with the river, but then, but then you carve certain ways as you go, and you kind of discover something, and then you kind of take a— another route, and then you go... So, it's not— for me, it was never about negating or um, or denouncing, you know, tradition. But it was about not accepting conventions, I guess.

Does that make sense, Michael? So, so—

So, all the work that I've done, it was just, I think, is part of this um, you know, life that I'm trying to lead, which has to do with just allowing myself to— to— to be open to whatever it is that that, you know, um, is calling for. And so, all these things that had to do with whether it's video, whether it's dance, or whether it's um, so many other things, for me, music is— is kind of, you know, it's— it's— it's um, it's an avenue and— or, you know, I don't know, it's a river, you know, that takes you to all these—

Yes.

Mhm.

Yeah.

Congratulations! That's—

Yeah, so, The Day was— was a project that started actually with September 11. It was um, you know, it started with this commission. Uh, Carnegie Hall commissioned me to do um, to do a full evening, um, and one of the composers that I decided to commission as part of this project was David Lang, my dear friend with whom, you know, um—

—I spent many years in Bang on a Can. We started to work on this piece and September 11 happened. So, this piece, which was a piece for multitrack cello and voice, as well, I sing in it, and— and um, it's— it's really a remarkable piece that David wrote. Um... so, that piece became, um, one of the most grounding pieces for me throughout many years that I've been— I've performed it a lot. And after several years, about 10 years that I've did it— I did it, I asked David if he would write a companion piece to it so we can create a whole evening, and— and um, we decided that David would write a prequel uh, to World to Come. So, World to Come, as, you probably know, Michael, it's the idea of Olam Ha-Ba, which is— which is the notion of life after death.

That's right.

I know. And— and— and, but so this piece is— is very— it's, you know, has a metaphor, but the metaphor is that this, you know, the voice tries to separate from the body, which is kind of what, you know, we believe happens after you die, that the— the— that the soul separates from the body, so the— and— and then at the end they reunite in— in the work. Uh, but so The Day became this piece about um, who are all these people? You know, it's like the idea that there were like 2,000-plus people who just disappeared from one moment to the next. And— and this idea of just holding on to this one memory that, you know, that is— it's just one thing that happens that you— you know, that— that is worth holding on to, and that might be the one memory that you have just before you die, you know? And—

And— and it's not trying to be— and so it's from the profound to the mundane. And so there is— there is this um, text that goes through the whole piece, which was um, which was uh, sourced from the internet, actually. So it's all these different people that responded to the question of, "I remember the day that..." And um, you know, the—

Were you? Yeah.

Uh, yeah.

You know, I'm not familiar with— familiar with that—

Oh, The Transmigration of Souls.

Yeah.

Well, first of all, you know, we— we really— we weren't public about— about the uh, the fact that it's— that it's about 9/11. It was— it was kind of a secret, you know? And um, and the piece just— it was informed by it, because we were working on it during that time, right after. But it wasn't meant to be like, "Oh, this is a piece about 9/11," you know? It was more about um, you know, th— this is where we are at this moment. We're both New Yorkers, David lives downtown, I was right there as well. And, so, this is kind of what comes out of it, us responding to that moment.

Yeah, you know, but— but um, I was thinking (laughs) about, you know, creating a sequel to— this is just kind of a joke, but— but, um, but I— I remember, we were performing The Day in Paris. We had, um, exactly a year ago, actually, today. Well, we started I think on the 20th of January, 2020.

We had um, 14 shows in Paris. It was just really wonderful, a year ago.

It was in Théâtre de la Ville in Paris. Mhm. And, um, I think it was one of the first performances that I went back to the hotel, and I opened the news, and I heard on CNN that there was some weird thing going on in Wuhan. And, um—

(Laughs) You know, and— and the next day, we were talking about it in the theater and— and um, my sound engineer, David— uh, Dave Cook, who is, you know, phenomenal engineer, and— and he was joking and he said, "You know, this is— this is going to be the end, uh, this is— this is contagion, and— and we're all going to, you know, worlds are..." And we were all joking about it, and nobody really took it seriously, and—

Yeah. And there you go.

Yeah.

Yeah.

You know, it's— it's, um... I don't really know, Michael. Um, so, I I— I'll tell you a little bit about what I went through through this whole period. So, yes, The Day— so, The Day was um, was on this worldwide tour. Um, we— as I said, we were in Paris for— for, you know, we had uh, 14 performances there, we were there for three weeks. We came back, and then we went to San Francisco, we had two shows in San Francisco. Before that, we were at the Kennedy Center, we were here in New York, uh, we had a whole week here at the Joyce Theater, uh, we were at UCLA, Royce Hall. I mean, we we've been all over, and— Great stuff. yeah, and we were on the road for— for many more performances. Um, I came back from San Francisco at the end of February, and um, and that was pretty much it. And everything started to get canceled.I had all these um, you know, I had a big premiere that was scheduled in um, in Philadelphia, um, at the Annenberg Center, it was a— a new Michael Gordon piece with uh— with the choir, The Crossing, and then we were supposed to be here at Carnegie Hall.

So, we were supposed to premiere it, uh, in Philadelphia and then— and then in Carnegie Hall in March. All of— I remember. I remember the whole— because I was with Donald just the— the concert before, in February.

And, all the— my entire season got canceled.

Yeah, exactly. But, you know, I have to say, for me, um, I— I— I mean, I felt quite fortunate that, you know, I have a home, I have a family, um, you know, I can um, I'm not in the street like some of my musician friends.

You know, yeah. So, I kind of just felt a call to, you know, to just be as helpful as I can to my friends, and to any— all the people that I— I knew that were having a lot of issue. And I didn't really feel terribly sorry about, "Oh, you know, I can't perform anymore." And in a strange way, you know, again, and I think that's comes back to the idea of flow, you know, of how we kind of need to, I think, not accept where we are, but— but go with— with where it is and— and sort of move.

Yeah.

You know, I— no, I did feel— it was hard— I didn't touch the cello for a while. That I can tell you. So, yes. There was this sense of, okay, um, you're here, you're surrounding me, but I'm not really, um...

Yeah. So, I did—

You know, I think that we just get very— I think that there are several things. First of all, I think that— which is why I— I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing. Because I think we tend— humans, but I think it's true in nature also, we tend to go into some sort of um, you know, inertia. And—

Well, but also, we just we're on some sort of path, right? And we start believing that this is the only path that exists. Yeah. I know. And so, we put everything in it. And then, when it— when it stops, you know, um, it— it's very— it's— it's— it's a shock, you know? There is a certain shock. I mean, I'm so used to travel. You know, I— I'm— I've spent half of my year on the road, um, which is something that I cherished and loved, you know, and all of a sudden, I'm here in this house for almost a year now, you know. (Beiser & Shapiro laugh) Um, it's a very strange thing, and I realized that, you know, I haven't actually spent that amount of time with my life partner, you know, and— and— and— and, and— and my dog, (laughs) and— and, uh, you know, for that— so, it— it's a very— yeah, so, I think that, um, I don't think that it says much about the artistic instincts. I just think that there are certain events in life that are just so big and— and momentous, where, you know, the entire kind of, you know, humanity is sort of on pause, in a way, right? So, that it takes us a while to adjust and to sort of find our bearings.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Thank you, Michael. It was such a pleasure talking to you.

Thank you. You be well, as well.