Playing for the first time in Carnegie Hall in 2003 was an unforgettable experience. The excitement and energy was palpable back then, and standing on stage in that hall enveloped by all its history and incredible acoustics, the sound has a way of staying with you forever.
There is an intimacy that allows you to play and share music with an audience in such an unparalleled way. On Thursday, February 16th, I am returning for a performance celebrating the 20th anniversary of my debut. Presented by the Irish Repertory Theatre, the feelings of excitement, awe and inspiration, coupled with a little bit of nostalgia for this hallowed and iconic concert hall, live within me once again.
It is a milestone that I am incredibly proud of. As the first Irish violinist to give a full solo debut at Carnegie Hall back in 2003, I felt a great sense of pride. As I reflect on what will be my upcoming fifth performance in Carnegie (twice in the main hall and twice in the recital hall), this one has a subtle difference.
Up until about six years ago, my dad, James Harrington (Jim to his friends) had been constant at many performances, concerts and tours, and in particular, many of the performances at Carnegie. It will be the first one that he will miss since his passing in 2016 and with that comes an absence where his personality, enthusiasm, support and his ability to create and share memories will be missed. In a hall that is known for the beautiful sounds that emanate from the stage, there will be a subtle silence with his absence. Looking back over the years, the lessons he imparted to me, and the moral compass in which he approached life, were things that I treasured.
Born in Cork and living in Dublin for much of his life, Dad was a charming conversationalist who loved the company of others. After Mum passed when I was only 20 years old, and in the decades that followed, he would often come with me on tour to many corners of the globe: New Zealand, Mexico, China, Columbia and South America, to name a few. As one who lived most of his life before the word “influencer” became part of the lexicon, his face lit up when it came to taking that step towards seeing the unseen.
He made friends everywhere from Dublin airport to small villages in New Zealand, and wherever he went, he left such a beautiful human footprint after him with the grace and elegance in how he treated and respected everyone around him. I remember those words: “it never costs anything to be kind." After concerts abroad, I would get messages into my website (when that was a thing) from people he sat beside on flights and they would have such a warmth from their time with him and almost know exactly who I was. Treating everyone around him with respect was the cornerstone of who he was.
I think in later life, Dad figured out that sometimes people just need someone to listen. He possessed wonderful handwriting and would often put pen to paper to write a letter or a thank you note. He believed that actions were so much more powerful than words - your kindness to others, your compassion, your humility, your honesty. Your Integrity. They are the intangibles that no one can take away from you.
Growing up and experiencing musical disappointments in the competitive violin world, or playing competitive sports for clubs in Dublin, I learned that integrity is the way that we strive to act equally in all areas of our life from work to home to music and to sports.
Being truthful was your foundation and leaving everything that you had out there was a respectable way to be a runner-up. Honesty was the conduit to earn the trust and respect of those around me, and build lasting connections; something that still holds true today.
When I would travel back to Dublin, Dad never underestimated the insightful answers that would unfold by sitting down and having a cup of tea. Come to think of it, meeting him in different cities on different continents, a glass of wine would present similar solutions. And in true Irish fashion, he had an uncanny way of telling the day and week by exactly when the garden was last mowed.
When I was contemplating a career path in my teens, we spent Sunday mornings either playing some tennis, going on walks with my brother or going back and forth on the merits of the financial world, or the calling of music. His words ring as true then as they do now, “Work hard and don’t be afraid to take risks.” In his later years, after Mum had passed, he epitomized that ability to keep going, even when faced with adversity, and instilled in us how to dig deeper and find the strength to keep going when times are tough, as what defines you and makes you stronger.
A career in music wasn’t the easiest path as talent accounts for nothing, he felt, unless you put in the hard work to see it through. But, finding your passion is invaluable, as is the opinion that anything worth having in life requires meticulous effort and dedication.
I think it was my London debut in 2002 shortly before my debut in Carnegie when Dad finally began to relax during my performances and really enjoy the concerts as he knew it was the right decision.
On Thursday, as I step on stage in Carnegie, he will be missed. When I think back, I find comfort in the feeling that I always knew he was always there for me. With understanding. With a small side of wisdom. And as I got older, with a glass of wine. But more importantly. Always.
