Biography

"One of the most important forms of expression comes from simply being a vehicle for the music."
- Adam Satinsky

For Adam Satinsky, music has always been a vehicle for exploring the balance between spontaneity and precision, and between personal expression and communication. He has studied with Stephen Kates of the Peabody Institute, Paul Katz of the Eastman School of Music (currently at the New England Conservatory), and Janos Starker of Indiana University, as well as attending master classes with prominent cellists such as Lynn Harrell, Ronald Leonard, Luis Garcia-Renart, Stephen Isserlis, Aldo Parisot, and Yo-yo Ma. This rich and varied training has given Adam a more complete mastery of his craft; perhaps more importantly, it has opened his eyes to many different forms of musicianship and allowed him to develop his own unique expression and relationship with music.

From an early age, Adam began winning competitions and receiving awards. At the ages of twelve and thirteen he won the concerto competition of the Interlochen National Music Camp in Interlochen, MI; two years later he won first prize in the concerto competition at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore, MD. At the age of sixteen he entered the Eastman School of Music to study with Paul Katz, and later received an award from the National Foundation for the Advancement in the Arts in recognition of his artistic talent. Upon continuing graduate studies at Indiana University with Janos Starker, Adam began entering and winning both national and international competitions: the Tilden Competition for the National Arts Club of New York (1992, second prize), the National Solo Competition for the American String Teachers Association (1992, first prize), the Santa Barbara Symphony/Esperia Foundation Competition (1992, first prize), the Max D. Jost International Cello Competition in Lausanne, Switzerland (1994, semifinalist), and the Indiana University Cello Competition and Kuttner Competition from Indiana University (1994 and 1995, first prizes).

Adam has been a professional section leader with the Charleston Symphony Orchestra and the Naples Philharmonic Orchestra in Naples, FL, where he has played as principal cellist since 1997. He has also performed many different concerti with orchestral accompaniment, including the Beethoven Triple Concerto, the Brahms Double Concerto, the Tchaikovsky Rococo Variations, the Haydn Concerto No. 2 in D major, the Schumann Cello Concerto in A minor, the Haydn Cello Concerto No. 1 in C major, the Saint-Saens Cello Concerto No. 1 in A minor, and the Boccherini Cello Concerto No. 2 in D major.

Adam's solo and chamber music repertoire is equally varied. He performs frequent solo and chamber recitals in the Naples area as part of the Naples Philharmonic "Candlelight Series" and other musical series, and also travels frequently around the country to cities such as Washington, D.C.; Montpelier, VT; Gaithersburg, MD; and Iowa City, IA, for performances and master classes. Adam has performed solo and chamber music by J. S. Bach, Shostakovich, Schnittke, Rachmaninoff, Poulenc, Hindemith, Schumann, Prokofieff, Chopin, Franck, Brahms, Bartok, Granados, Ginastera, Lutoslawski, Kodaly, Debussy, and many other composers both living and dead.

Some of Adam's favorite moments in his musical career have come while teaching and performing at various music festivals around the world: the Grand Teton Music Festival in Wilson, WY; the Bellingham Music Festival in Bellingham, WA; the Colorado Music Festival in Boulder, CO; the Ernen Musikdorf in Ernen, Switzerland; the North Carolina School of the Arts Festival Orchestra in Winston-Salem, NC; the Marlboro Music Festival in Marlboro, VT; the Stean's Institute of the Ravinia Festival in Highland Park, IL; the Heidelberg Festival Orchestra in Heidelberg, Germany; the Sarasota Music Festival in Sarasota, FL; the Aspen Music Festival in Aspen, CO; and the Music Academy of the West in Santa Barbara, CA.

This past summer (2008) Adam enjoyed performing at the Grand Teton and Bellingham Music Festivals.

Adam plays a poplar Paolo Castello (c. 1750, Genoa) which he has owned since 1990. His amourette-wood bow is modern, crafted by David Forbes in 2005.

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Personal Biography

It seems strange to me now, since music and the cello are so deeply part of me, that as a young child I was not really interested in the cello. What grabbed me more, growing up in the suburbs of Washington, DC, were soccer, rock music and ping-pong. I suppose this is not too unusual. But music lessons were an inescapable part of growing up in our home. I saw my older siblings playing musical instruments and relished the few years of freedom until my time would come.

Shortly before my seventh birthday, I received a half-sized cello and began lessons with the highly respected cellist, Miron Yampolsky. Mr. Yampolsky was a meticulous and dedicated pedagogue. I had to have a specifically-sized chair to bring with me wherever I played, and lessons consisted of open strings, scales, arpeggios and etudes, to be played as beautifully as possible. Other teachers may have sought to accommodate their students by having them play catchy tunes, but Mr. Yampolsky insisted on rigor. I didn't know any different. As far as I could tell these etudes were wondrous musical achievements deserving of all the passion I could muster.

At early recitals Mr. Yampolsky would place me in a secluded room backstage in order to quietly focus and warm up, then summon me (taking my chair) onto the stage where I proceeded to play my slow scale, arpeggio and an exercise or two. As I advanced he would find obscure concerti for me to learn, pieces that his teacher, Mstislav Rostropovich, had him study in Russia. The idea was if I could master these knuckle-breakers, anything from the standard repertoire would be a piece of cake. When I eventually came to realize how unusual my training had been, I was not embarrassed. Our relationship was warm and familial, and I seemed to have more of the skills needed to continue on as a professional than anyone I knew.

When I was eleven, I spent my first of three summers at the National Music Camp in Interlochen, Michigan. This eight-week festival combined summer camp with intense music making. At the end of each summer we would all be crying our eyes out from having to leave this idyllic, enriching place. For me, the opportunity to make music with other talented kids from around the world, plus performing two concerti with orchestra, helped me understand that I had the ability succeed.

When I turned thirteen, my parents and I agreed it would be good for me to change teachers, so I applied to Peabody Preparatory and began studying with Stephen Kates. He had a great reputation as a cellist and a teacher, and Peabody was nexus for top music students in the region.

Although I missed Mr. Yampolsky, it was great to have a fresh approach to playing the repertoire. Mr. Kates asked me what I wanted to play, and that is what he taught me! He insisted that I come up with my own interpretations, then we’d work together to refine them. Mr. Kates would guide me through this process, carefully reviewing the composer’s markings and then making suggestions based on his own style and reactions to the piece. This was about as different from my Russian schooling as possible. It opened up a whole new world to me and suddenly, I found myself a young musician searching for a voice.

I remember one summer at Santa Barbara's Music Academy of the West working and wood-shedding two lines of the Haydn C-major concerto for at least two hours to find the most satisfying phrasing.

While at Peabody, I also had the opportunity to play in a terrific piano trio and sit as principal of the chamber orchestra. In my final year, I performed a full recital and played a concerto with the orchestra, both of which helped prepare me for the next step in my musical education—Eastman.

At sixteen, having skipped my senior year of high school, I went straight to the Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester, and delved even deeper into my training and education. It was clear to me a this point that I was pursuing a profession.  My new teacher at Eastman was Paul Katz of the Cleveland Quartet. Mr. Katz helped me incorporate gravity and relaxation into my technique, and to fine-tune my ear to hear as well as he heard. This was essential preparation for me to succeed as a professional.

Mr. Katz’s commitment and support were astounding to me. He spent the better part of two winter vacations teaching entire Bartok quartet cello parts to me and another student so we could compete in Marlboro auditions.

Eastman trained many of best young cellists in the country, earning it the title "the cello school" primarily due to the draw of its outstanding faculty. I learned a lot observing my colleagues and made some great friends, many of whom were cellists.

I had never received a high school diploma, so graduation day at Eastman was a particularly significant moment for me. I revelled in the ceremony, despite near-freezing temperatures.

On Mr. Katz's recommendation, I continued my studies at Indiana University with Janos Starker. All rumors to the contrary, I found Mr. Starker a warm and nurturing teacher. His teaching style, laced with humor and gentleness, incorporated a simple, organic approach to solving problems. Under his guidance, and having invested tremendous time and energy in the practice room, I could finally grasp how different aspects of cello-playing—the body, the instrument, the bow, and of course the music—all fit together in a unified form. This was the beginning of freedom from physical hindrances in playing, and as Mr. Starker says, it began a new learning process which one enjoys for a lifetime.

Before starting my fourth year at Indiana I received a phone call at my parents' home from an old Eastman classmate who had become concertmaster of the Charleston Symphony Orchestra, in Charleston, SC. He was wondering if I'd like to play principal cello there for a year. I was so taken aback that I almost said I'd have to think about it, then realized it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I said “yes.”

Once there the first sensation I remember was liberation—out on my own, earning a living as a musician. It seemed I was now a member of society, having emerged from the educational system. I also had the interesting opportunity to play for one year sitting first chair and one year as a section player. That taught me something important: every chair in an orchestra has its challenges, regardless of its proximity to the conductor. My two years there were invaluable in preparing me to be flexible in this unpredictable field.

In Charleston I had a memorable experience playing Dvorak's New World Symphony. It was shortly after I arrived and I was enthusiastic about the job in a pure way. I would lose myself in the music at almost every rehearsal and feel a kinship with an unknown group of people simply because we were playing music together. I hadn't considered the fact that others' goals or motives might differ from mine; glancing around the stage I felt a gratitude and love for what I assumed to be everyone's wholehearted involvement. This outlook affected my perception of how the music sounded and I relished those concerts even if I couldn't describe anything specifically memorable about them. I still associate the magnificence of this symphony with my early experience there. It is sometimes possible for me to recapture this kind of passion during an orchestra concert but it requires either an exceptional conductor or mental trickery which can take me back to this time or forward to an imagined euphoric performance.

I suppose full orchestra is inherently more imagination-based than smaller ensembles because you can barely hear yourself over the group sound and it's difficult to directly affect the interpretation of those around you, unless you are the conductor. Experienced orchestra players seem to be able to read each others' minds to the point where subtle visual and aural cues are enough to create a unified rendition, sometimes even without the conductor's awareness. Of course, conductors must rely almost entirely on a mental or emotional approach because they aren't making any sounds directly. They can tell the players what they'd like them to do in rehearsal and gesture to them with their batons in concert, but ultimately the best they can do is trust them; the orchestra has the final say. Generally I must bring the inspiration to orchestra from somewhere inside myself if I want the fulfillment I derive in solo or chamber music endeavors, where every nuance can be heard and my colleagues and I can show each other where we want the music to go. For the camaraderie and satisfaction one gets in first-rate orchestral settings, however, I am happy to adjust my approach.

Two years later, I was selected to join the Naples Philharmonic Orchestra, in Naples, FL. The Naples Philharmonic is a well-run, and highly regarded organization that packs the house almost every concert, and for good reason—consistently high level playing. While at Naples, I have accustomed myself to a different range of work and more challenging schedule than I had been used to, including many repeats of classical, pops and children's concerts, as well as various chamber music and run-out performances. This experience has taught me the endurance, patience and focus that are needed to function as a truly consummate professional. I have found much use for these abilities in my other musical endeavors and I rarely worry about mental or physical fatigue anymore.

I believe I am very lucky to be able to make music for a living and only hope I can continue to do so for as long as I have ideas to communicate and an audience to play for.

I would like to mention some personal thoughts I have had in the field of music. One philosophical issue with which I've grappled of late is the following: should one strive to replicate or vary multiple performances of the same piece? The question speaks to two contrary schools of playing which I have encountered many times over the years. On the one hand, a perfectionistic mimicry seems to be a goal, whether its one's own or another's interpretation as the ideal rendering. It is almost like being a human CD player, hoping to duplicate fingerings, bowings, dynamics, phrasings and whatever else one can extract from a past performance, whether it's one minute or five decades ago. The advantages of this approach are safety and consistency for the performer and a comforting predictability for the audience.

In the other school the aim is spontaneity and a natural response to the music precisely while it is happening, without expending energy recalling one's former experiences or anticipating what might be around the next corner. Clearly this is difficult to achieve; you must be fearless of the unknown and trust your instincts in any given moment. There are, however, certain rewards—a fresh, unique interpretation of pieces you have played for years and an intuitive confidence with unfamiliar works or musical styles.

I may be biased towards the latter approach, but I'm sure that some blend of these two extremes would still be the ideal choice, the result being a depth and beauty of playing which is neither boring nor frivolous.

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