A Prodigy Among Us
ANY FAN OF THE PERFORMING ARTS is fascinated by a “prodigy”—a word that my dictionary defines as “a person endowed with exceptional qualities or abilities, especially a precocious child.” Close enough, I suppose—but I think the Germans have a better word for it, namely “Wunderkind,” translatable as “wonder-child.” This term implies a miraculous level of ability and achievement that, no matter how deeply you attempt to analyze it, simply cannot be explained in terms of either nature or nurture; one can only marvel, and wonder. And it is precisely such a sense of inexplicable wonder that overcomes me whenever I hear fifteen-year-old Charleston native Micah McLaurin play the piano.
I’ve been bearing such wondering witness to Micah’s music-making (and writing about it) ever since he first walked through the door of my sorely missed classical room at Charleston’s now-closed Millennium Music store, back when he was only eleven. Many of you will recall the lovely grand piano I had there—and the popular “Sunday Spotlight” concert series that I built around it. Ever the talent scout, I asked Micah to play something for me, after learning that he was an advanced piano student.
I expected—at best—the usual mechanical and mono-dimensional playing that you routinely get from kids, even the supposedly talented ones. But I wish I had been able to see my own thunderstruck facial expression as this shy, serious, towheaded slip of a boy launched into the Mozart sonata he was working on at the time. Not only was he hitting all the notes, but—right from the opening bars—he was also realizing almost everything else that the music had to offer behind mere notes. Not only were Mozart’s hallmark grace and charm there to be savored, but also the composer’s sunny sweetness—and even his occasional pangs of melancholy or sharp emotion. And it got even better, as Micah delivered further selections from other composers.
Micah McLaurin
Needless to say, I was absolutely floored—and lost no time in scheduling a semi-formal recital for him there at Millennium. A few weeks later, he appeared—resplendent in his rented mini-tux—to offer a 45-minute program of advanced classics (from memory!) to a standing-room-only crowd of stunned music lovers. Somehow, here—from a mere child—was real music-making-complete with technical confidence, interpretive maturity, and emotional depth… while remaining stylistically true to the composers at hand. As I’ve written before, many young virtuosos can play all the notes, but very few can put their whole hearts and souls behind them like Micah could, even then.
That was more than four years ago. Meanwhile, Micah has moved on to a world-class teacher: the College of Charleston’s Artist-in-Residence, Enrique Graf, who runs one of the country’s finest piano pedagogy programs. And Micah just keeps getting better and better. You can peruse Micah’s list of awards and competition wins in this earlier article. Graf calls him the most talented piano student he has ever had the privilege of teaching. And this week and next—over a span of four days—Micah will get his chances to prove it. His local orchestral debut will happen at this Saturday’s Charleston Symphony Masterworks concert, where he’ll be performing the slow movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23. The following Tuesday, he’ll be the youngest performer to ever get his own full-length, formal piano recital as part of Graf’s vaunted International Piano Series: a concert series that has showcased many of the world’s truly great piano masters over the years. And his ambitious program (see my program notes) is one that would intimidate many adult pianists. Trust me.
Let’s dig a little deeper into the “prodigy” matter. It’s almost impossible to define clearly, especially when you’re talking about music: the most subjective and intuitive of the arts. This is where the “wonder” part comes to bear—even for a seasoned musician and critic like me. I’ve already touched on matters like Micah’s uncanny interpretive depth and emotional vitality. So how, you may ask, has a home-schooled ninth-grader (also a boy scout and competitive swimmer) managed to accumulate enough of life’s inevitable ups and downs to enable him to express the kinds of heart-on-sleeve emotion and dramatic intensity that you hear in his playing? What can a barely adolescent boy possibly know of adult-level romance, humor, triumph, drama, grief, desolation, or any of the other human feelings and impulses that music speaks of? Yet, with your eyes closed, you’d swear that it was a fully grown, finished artist at work before you.
May I suggest that Micah’s preternatural musical maturity—since it can hardly be the result of actual life experience—flows perhaps from a deep and mystical sensitivity to the music at hand; he has somehow come to understand such intangible qualities from the music itself. Micah, still a shy and soft-spoken young man, is nevertheless a confident, even fearless performer who would rather do his talking with his flying fingers. He and I have communicated at length via email and Facebook, and he’s dropped some interesting hints along the way. He has spoken of “dreaming” spells inspired by the music of composers like Chopin, Rachmaninoff, and Wagner.
But most telling, perhaps, was his answer to one of my questions a few months back about how he seeks to engage his listeners. His simple response was, “I want to make my audience cry.” And I can testify, from personal experience, that Micah has the power to do just that. His performing muse is driven by his desire to share with others the beauty and emotional intensity of music that has ignited a joyful fire in his soul; music that is simply too precious to keep to himself.
So, especially if you’ve never heard a real “Wunderkind” in person before, just be there at the Gaillard this Saturday—or at the Sottile Theatre next Tuesday—to share my own endless sense of wonder as this young wizard plays his way into our hearts. And don’t forget your hanky: you’ll probably need one before Micah is finished with you. •
(See Lindsay’s program notes for the Sottile performance: click here.)
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