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TIME: Almanac 1995
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1995-02-24
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<text id=94TT0327>
<title>
Mar. 21, 1994: The Arts & Media:Music
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Mar. 21, 1994 Hard Times For Hillary
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THE ARTS & MEDIA, Page 73
Music
A Different Drummer
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Scotland's Evelyn Glennie is pounding out a rare and brilliant
career as a percussion soloist, never mind that she is deaf
</p>
<p>By Michael Walsh/Cincinnati
</p>
<p> The art of music so utterly depends on the perception of sound
that it seems inconceivable for one to exist without the other.
One can imagine a deaf composer if, as in the case of Beethoven,
he spent decades absorbed in the world of pitch and melody before
silence held sway. Music, after all, is first composed in the
mind's ear, and it is no great feat for professionals to be
able to "hear" a musical score simply by reading it. But a deaf
performer? To hit all the right notes, to play in an ensemble
or in front of an orchestra as the featured soloist? Surely
this requires the ability not only to hear, but to hear, as
well, with a musician's acuity--doesn't it?
</p>
<p> Consider Evelyn Glennie, a small, vivacious Scotswoman who has
been "profoundly deaf" since she was 12. Glennie is a full-time
percussion soloist--the only one in the classical field--and one of today's brightest young stars on any instrument.
"People have the wrong idea about deafness," says Glennie, 28,
currently in the midst of an American concert tour that is taking
her to Cincinnati, Washington and Cleveland. "They think you
live in a world of total silence, but that isn't the way it
works."
</p>
<p> Glennie relates to her battery of instruments through her sense
of touch; to heighten her sensitivity to vibrations, she likes
to perform barefoot. She conceives of her concerts in terms
of the play of colors and emotions. During rehearsal, she will
station an adviser in the hall to help her gauge dynamic levels,
but otherwise her concessions to deafness are few. "I don't
think in terms of loud and soft," says Glennie. "Instead I think
of sounds as thin or fat, strong or weak. The amount of sounds
you can create with just one cymbal are infinite."
</p>
<p> Sharp-eyed and keen, Glennie reads lips so fluently that an
interlocutor would never know she cannot hear. In performance
she watches the conductor and orchestra with a fierce intensity,
picking up visual cues and bounding from instrument to instrument
with the grace of a natural athlete. She often gets a workout:
Dominic Muldowney's astringent Concerto for Percussion, subtitled
Figure in a Landscape, which she performed with the Cincinnati
Symphony late last month, employs cymbals, marimba, Japanese
bells, a pair of bongos, two congas, a vibraphone, four small
drums, four wood blocks and several boobams, which are tuned
cylindrical tubes open on one end and covered by a small drumskin
at the other. The piece, difficult for player and listener alike,
had her leaping from one station to another with a gazelle's
grace, smacking each instrument in turn both accurately and
mellifluously.
</p>
<p> Starting at age eight, for reasons that are still unclear, Glennie's
auditory nerves gradually deteriorated and she lost most of
her hearing. Today she can just barely discern the loud ring
of a telephone right next to her ear, and she can sense rather
than hear the rumble of a jet plane overhead. Her determination
and natural talent, however, were enough to qualify her for
London's Royal Academy of Music, where she graduated with honors.
Glennie then compounded her professional challenge by setting
out as a soloist instead of a rank-and-file orchestral player.
Plenty of people make a living playing the piano, violin, flute
or cello. But how many live off their skill with the snare drum,
the marimba, the xylophone? Beethoven, after all, never wrote
a percussion concerto.
</p>
<p> Percussion, in fact, did not come into its own until the mid-20th
century, which is one reason why the repertory is so sparse.
Glennie is an active commissioner of new works, among them fellow
Scotsman James MacMillan's Veni, Veni, Emmanuel, a thorny, dissonant,
virtuoso showpiece that got its triumphant American premiere
a fortnight ago in Washington. She works closely with composers,
advising on matters of technique and, in return for her commission,
extracting a promise that the score will be hers exclusively
for one year. Her taste runs also to arrangements of Chopin
and Joplin, as well as to Japanese and Brazilian music, part
of an eclectic approach that is winning her fans around the
world.
</p>
<p> Although she is affiliated with some 40 organizations for the
deaf in Britain, Glennie downplays discussion of her charity
work; she would rather be known as a role model for all young
musicians, not just young deaf people. And model she is. She
performs some 120 concerts a year, a number the newlywed Glennie
would prefer to reduce in order to spend more time at home near
Cambridge with her husband, Greg Malcangi, a recording engineer.
The flying Scot also has been the subject of two British and
one American TV documentaries and even wrote an autobiography
at the age of 24. The inevitable title: Good Vibrations.
</p>
<p> Still, she remains focused on her principal task of elevating
percussion music to the level of more conventional instruments.
So when she says, "if it inspires other people that I'm able
to do this, then wonderful," she is referring to timbal and
timpani. As for the inspirational nature of defying deafness,
she doesn't really want to hear about it.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>