Imagine a slender, pale fellow with long, greasy hair. As sweat rolls down his face from a brilliant violin performance before an audience of hundreds, he slowly reaches into his black coat pocket to pull out a pair of scissors. The applause in the concert hall ceases; what is this maniac going to do to his precious violin? With a toothless grin, he deftly cuts three of the strings, each producing a terrific crack when severed. One lonely string remains for a spectacular encore performance. This was the entrancing world of Niccolo Paganini…

Perhaps the rumors of the time were true – perhaps Paganini did get his powers from the devil; after all, his talents were preternatural and he took on the appearance of a damned soul. His long face was sunken from tooth loss, he wore black clothing, and he always rode to concerts in a black carriage pulled by black horses. Many who hear me perform on the violin praise me for my style and charm. They see me as a typical, modest, accomplished violin student, but little do they know that much of my own world of music is fueled by a man rumored to have received his talent from the devil himself in the fiery bowels of hell.

Although there are no sound recordings of Paganini, his compositions live on in every accomplished violinist. After eleven years of study, I have barely dented this repertoire. Even the twenty-four caprices written when he was nineteen are called “devilishly difficult,” and rightly so, for they require hours of training and physical strength to practice and perform. Although they were composed as exercises, I play the Paganini caprices like a fully demanding concert piece. They are in my daily practice and will probably always be, since they are a gateway into Paganini’s imagination.

Today I perform on the violin without the aid of written music. To me a clunky stand on stage with cumbersome page turns distracts the audience and often restricts the performer. Paganini was the very first to play concerts from memory, which added to the rumors of wicked genius and astounded audiences. This started a long tradition of memorized music which many strive to uphold. I memorize not to simply follow a tradition, but to share the freedom of performance in Paganini’s style.

Paganini’s outstanding musicianship – his ability to inspire emotion in an audience – has inspired me. Yet while Paganini turned to the demonic for his musicianship, I turn to the elegant and courteous for mine. As concertmaster of one of the nation’s top high school orchestras, I do not lead with flashy eccentricity. Rather, I tend to the orchestra with quiet authority – a more personal style, but just as effective. When I stand up to tune the orchestra, I say nothing; the noise in the room ceases, the lone oboe player gives the long “A” note and the rest of the players tune their instruments. I imagine this is similar to the immediate hush in audiences as Paganini silently strode on stage. While he would stun them with his strange appearance, however, I strive to capture them with a self-assured presence.

The idea that there was a “superhuman” of the violin has greatly influenced my own violin studies. Paganini’s technique is something I constantly try to cultivate, and although I do strive to develop my dexterity to its full potential, I still do not consider myself a great violinist. The late violinist Yehudi Menuhin said “virtuosity is wonderful, but it is fed by musicianship; without musicianship, virtuosity destroys itself.” Paganini has influenced my performances through uncanny virtuosity fed by his brilliant musicianship, and while I may not have an established career as a prodigious violinist with a satanic image, Paganini’s genius feeds my burning desire to become great one day.


 This essay was written by Andrew Sumitani, Garfield Class of 2004, University of Chicago College Class of 2008..