This Ain't No Juilliard!

Life and violins at the school that Flea built

A A A Comments (0) By Robert Lloyd Wednesday, Oct 2 2002

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". . . and now on piano, the enigmatic Ruby LaSalle."

". . . and now on piano, a young lady who's taking the town by storm . . ."

". . . and now, she just flew in from an exclusive appearance at Carnegie Hall in New York . . ."

". . . on bass guitar performing a piece by the Baroque Renaissance composers Led Zeppelin . . ."

And of one performer late for his spot: "You know these temperamental artists -- the rituals he's doing backstage."

It grows dark; the stage lights lend the proceedings a certain magical intensity. The audience joins in the "Mexican Hand-Clapping Song," without prompting. Kids who have already performed peel off to play; light sabers are drawn in the corridor between the practice rooms. A cat idles along the wall behind the stage; someone sets off a skyrocket. Flea chastises some early leavers, heading out the back: "I see you there walkin' out, I'm not going to forget you."

An 11-year-old flutist named Stefanie gets up to play Bach's Minuet in G. Her tone is way better than mine. James King catches my eye, points to himself and grins: She's his student. He played the same piece for his first judged competition, he later tells me, and suffered his first actual stage fright. "I saw her go through the same thing -- I just wanted to give her a hug, you know."

After everyone has performed -- including more than a few adults, almost all of them singers -- I return to the school's main room. I am amazed to find there are cookies left; it says something to me about the discipline of the younger generation. As I chew thoughtfully upon an Oreo, a father and son walk by on their way out, the boy carrying his music.

"Did you see your teacher?" asks the father.

"Uh-huh."

"What did he say?"

"He said I did very good."

"You did."

I will go and practice my flute now.