Nakamatsu’s husband spans the world as concert pianist

May 23, 2014 — by Tiffany Zheng

Jon Nakamatsu, husband of chemistry teacher Kathy Nakamatsu, is a world renowned musician who has performed in places such as Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center in New York. 

Jon Nakamatsu, husband of chemistry teacher Kathy Nakamatsu, is a world renowned musician who has performed in places such as Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center in New York. In a review for the New York Times, esteemed critic Allan Kozinn commended him for “having both a solid technique and a gentle, introspective, interpretive spirit.”

“I believe that on stage, one can experience every emotional state possible — sometimes simultaneously — from exhilaration to apprehension, peace, happiness and even loneliness and great sadness,” Nakamatsu said. 

The path to becoming a professional musician
When he was 4, he played his first piano at Challenger Preschool. Nakamatsu was immediately fascinated that he “could press levers and somehow produce magical tones.”

“We weren't allowed to touch the piano, however, and the first time I did, I was given a time-out,” he said. “I thought, if they protected the piano that fiercely, it must be a secret worth discovering!”

Nakamatsu went to Prospect High School and eventually went on to Foothill College. He later transferred to Stanford where he received a B.A. in German Studies and an M.A. in Education. He also taught a German class at Saint Francis while he was pursuing his dream to become a concert pianist.

At the same time, Nakamatsu studied music privately and admits that it was “often difficult to reconcile with the busy academic schedule.” Nakamatsu met Mrs. Nakamatsu in 1991 during graduate school at Stanford where they became instant friends.

Perhaps his greatest achievement was winning the gold medal at the tenth Van Cliburn competition in 1997, a prestigious competition held once every four years where only 30 of the most talented pianists in the world play.

Chemistry between musician and teacher
Like her husband, Mrs. Nakamatsu loves music. She played the piano and flute when she was young, and she even took voice lessons briefly, eventually developing an “eclectic” range of tastes, according to her husband.

“She makes some very astute observations about what I do and her reactions are always informative to me,” he said. “I think there might be a little musician inside of her somewhere, though she probably won't admit it.”

Nakamatsu’s schedule is packed with concerts and travel all over the world, but Kathy manages staying alone at home. She too is busy with school and time passes very quickly. She also uses technology to keep in touch.

“When we bought our house, he wasn’t home, but we looked at pictures on the web,” she said. “Every now and then, something bad happens when he’s gone — like when our roof was leaking and rain was dripping into our living room —  but both our families live nearby and help out.”

However, Mrs. Nakamatsu admits that she “never gets tired of hearing him play,” and has learned a lot about how musicians practice. Most of the time, she is “in awe” when she listens to her husband perform.

“It’s always neat to hear him play with a symphony — at home, I only hear the piano part, so it’s neat to hear what it sounds like with the entire orchestra playing with him,” she said. “Sometimes I’m a little nervous, especially if he’s playing a new piece, but usually I’m incredibly proud.”

Life as a performer
He performs wherever he is invited. Usually, his tours are planned between one to three years in advance. Nakamatsu estimates that he is on the road around 75 percent of the year.

Sometimes he performs as infrequently as once a week, but it can also be five or six times a week.

While some may be overwhelmed with nervousness, Nakamatsu describes live performance as a “strange phenomenon” due to the seemingly withdrawn-from-reality experience he has while playing.

“On one hand, we all live in the present and experience the event with its usual mundane distractions (people talking, opening candy wrappers, coughing),” he said. “But on another level, it can become completely transcendent and profoundly moving — a sort of temporary departure from one's reality that is difficult to describe in words.”
 

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