I met Massa in my twenties when I used to hang out as guest in a Bohemian household occupied by classical musicians in Lynn Valley, North Vancouver. Massa was from Osaka Japan and at one time he played with the Osaka Symphony.
I never did hear the reason he decided to settle in Canada. He was very tall for a Japanese man and spoke French and some English. Another tenant of the house was a concert pianist from Nice, France. They loved to talk for hours in the kitchen and if I were present the conversation would politely start in English but would invariably end up in French. A typical conversation would take place around the kitchen table with a bottle of good scotch, lots of filled ashtrays, foreign cigarette boxes and lighters strewn across the table. The room would have a smoky haze and talking would usually last well into the night. In those days I couldn’t get enough of the sound of Parisian French
and would sit quietly and listen by the hour gleaning what little I could from the animated tête-à-tête with a pair of world-class musicians.
I first heard Massa play from inside a locked room where he would practice his clarinet. I had never heard anything like it and got a chair to sit and listen. He could articulate notes up and down the clarinet so fast that I was dumbfounded. He had exquisite tone and would fly through any key with lighting speed. Major, minor, whole tone, diminished, augmented and altered all came streaming effortlessly out of the room. At the end of his scales and arpeggios sessions he would move on to a stirring rendition of wonderful classical solo clarinet pieces. He didn’t know I was outside listening and when he ended his practice I would quietly move away from the door as I heard him packing up his instrument. Here was a master and I didn’t even have a clue as to the realms of music he must know.
Over the next years we became friends and talked for hours usually around the kitchen table with a good bottle of scotch. He told me that he had tried to audition for many symphonies since he came to Canada. One audition story comes to mind:
It was in Chicago for the Chicago symphony where there was one opening offered for third clarinet. There were 240 applicants from all over North America that descended upon Chicago for their chance for this one position. Massa practiced six to seven hours a day for the two weeks leading up to the audition: scales, arpeggios, long tones, and a number of very intricate pieces. And then there was the reed selection. He told me that in a typical box of 12 Rico clarinet reeds he would be very lucky to find one or maybe two that would be good enough to perform at his level of playing. So as he neared the date of departure he opened box after box of reeds and examined them carefully to finally end up with 4 reeds that he could trust for this very special audition.
On the day of the audition, Massa took a taxi to the airport, picked up the ticket he had paid for in advance, and sat on the plane with his clarinet case on his lap and his reeds in his breast pocket—he at last was ready and on his way. With eyes closed he practiced various pieces with his fingers playing an imaginary clarinet in mid air: a common exercise of traveling concert musicians.
When he arrived in Chicago he went straight to his hotel and checked into his room to try and do a quick warm-up before the audition that started an hour and a half later. He opened his reed case and un-clipped one of the special reeds he had carefully chosen, placed it on the mouthpiece and slid the custom ligature he had had made in Paris over the reed. Adjusting the placement of the reed with tiny screws placed it exactly in the right position to obtain the response needed. He placed the mouthpiece to his lips and squeak! He adjusted his lower lip against the bottom of the mouthpiece. Squeak! Not a single note would come out of one of the finest instruments money could buy. He tried another reed. Squeak! And another squeak!
Suddenly Massa’s world began to crash around him like thundering waves. Not one reed would work! It was now 35 minutes before his audition time. He hurriedly packed his clarinet case and ran to the taxi stand and caught the first taxi to audition hall. The drive took almost all the remaining time he had left and he stumbled into the audition room with minutes to spare. Massa has a very thick accent and he had some trouble explaining that his reeds had been selected in Vancouver but the humidity was completely different in Chicago and the reeds wouldn’t work at all. He finally begged a fellow clarinetist for a reed and when his number was called he walked into the audition hall still adjusting the reed as he walked. He was allowed to play for exactly two minutes and then heard “Thank You” coming from the judging table.
He bowed slightly turned and left the room pausing in the hallway to thank the person who had lent him the reed. He returned to the hotel, packed his things and went to the airport to wait for the plane home. When he returned to Vancouver he had to go straight to work as soon as he got back. This trip had been expensive as were all the others
before it. All paid for with his own money to try to get a job doing what he loved to do.
Massa had more qualifications and had paid more for his education than most doctors or lawyers. He had taken expensive private lessons since early childhood, studied with world masters, attended expensive music retreats and sought after and bought the best clarinets money could buy. He was, in my opinion, one of the elite of the classical music world. Perhaps it was his age or his thick Japanese accent or perhaps there are just too many really good musicians at that level and not enough jobs for them all. Massa returned to his regular job as a short order cook at a greasy spoon called Franky’s at the bottom of Lonsdale Avenue and never picked up the clarinet again.
This sad story reminds me of my last visit to London when I saw a lineup of well over 500 people, the longest I have ever seen stretching all the way around a city block. I was curious as to what it was for so I walked over and asked one of the people in the endless cue what they were waiting for. One of the tired hopefuls explained to me, “It’s a dance audition for two parts in the The Lion King”
Vive l’artiste!
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