Although Hilary Hahn’s name might not be familiar to many, she has without a doubt played a central role in my development, both musically and personally. I have met her at after-concert autograph signings, and I have followed her career intently for the past ten years.
I first heard Hilary play when I was about ten years old. I remember being astonished at how short she was, and how pale her face was, since she was wearing barely any makeup. She wore a gold and burgundy gown with exquisite detailed patterns on it. The piece she performed was a modern one: Benjamin Britten’s Violin Concerto. I didn’t quite enjoy the performance, and neither did my parents. “I bet the only reason people clapped was because of her dress,” mom commented. “That piece was strange, but she played with some cool guitar-inspired techniques,” dad chimed in. I, too, walked away from the concert unimpressed.
I can’t tell you exactly how I was re-introduced to Hilary’s playing. I faintly remember my dad buying me violin cds by my favorite artists, and a recording of hers was in there as well. I started listening (again), and began to connect with her sound. It was a pure and full sound; there were no weak spots. Every passage was completely clear. I decided that I wanted to sound just like Hilary.
I listened to her recordings every night before going to bed, staying up well past midnight. I scratched up my “Hilary Hahn Plays Bach” cd from playing it so many times. I started using the same brand of violin strings that she did, and spent hours studying the videos of her playing Paganini caprices on YouTube. I even managed to adjust my bow grip to look somewhat like hers! I found interviews of her on Danish TV stations where she showed her “human” side, and hula-hooped for the camera. I bought the documentary which featured her and watched it multiple times every weekend. I was obsessed, to be honest.
Finally after three years of non-stop listening and watching, Hilary finally returned to play with my hometown professional symphony, and she was going to play my favorite piece of all time: Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto.
I couldn’t contain my excitement as I sat in the audience. My idol was about to play my favorite piece…do things get any better? Hilary walked stately onto the stage looking larger-than-life in tall heels and a black dress with crisscrossed fabric on the front and back. The orchestra breezed through the introduction and she played the opening notes—she sounded just like the recordings. Everything was clean, clear, and precise, with no mistakes. It was inhumane. It was too perfect. It was…almost robotic. I stepped away from that concert feeling both overwhelmed and underwhelmed--totally conflicted. She played just as perfectly as she always did, but there was very little heart or emotion involved in her performance. I didn’t really know how to react, being the innocent 12 year-old that I was.
The next week I went to my private lesson, and my teacher started talking about emotion and ironically, mistakes in performances. “Did you see Hilary last weekend?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, I felt cold inside after that performance. See, I’d rather hear a very heartfelt performance with some mistakes than one like that.” I was shocked that another person was confirming what I felt. I didn’t want to believe that my idol could leave her audiences feeling so unaffected.
It took me a long time to get over this. I had to consider that maybe I shouldn’t try to be just like Hilary. Yes, she has an incredibly warm personality. Yes, she plays absolutely flawlessly. However, in all honesty, I can’t be just like her, and I shouldn’t try to be.
In all honesty, I still struggle with perfectionism in some areas of my life, such as in my performances. I understand that there is beauty in being imperfect, but a part of me is reluctant to embrace that. Nobody wants to play the wrong notes or have a memory slip on stage. However, I understand that in order to be totally creative, I need to take risks. Performing is always about risk-taking, or at least it should be. Yes, it can be uncomfortable, but it can also be incredibly rewarding. In my experience, few things are more satisfying than venturing out on a limb and presenting something so personal, however, doing so can set you free.
In a weird way, Hilary has inspired me to be my own person. I am free to be myself. I am allowed to make mistakes. I can embrace the aspects of my playing and my personality that make me, me. Otherwise, how else can I truly live?