Stories about János Starker

I recently finished reading The World of Music According to Starker by the cellist János Starker, and a few days ago I wrote a post containing my notes about the book. János Starker is considered to be one of the world’s greated cellists, and there are many articles about him on the internet. Strangely, no one has written a biography yet.

While I was reading the book and composing my post, I collected stories about Mr. Starker by students and professional cellists. (Note on July 23, 2026: I am continuing to add to this post as I find more stories.)

The Art of Listening

Anthony Arnone’s book The Art of Listening: Conversations with Cellists, in which he provides conversations with thirteen highly regarded instructors of cello, contains many stories about János Starker.

Stephen Geber (p. 109):

Another person that I got to know and I liked very much, although I was never really enamored with the playing, was Starker. He could play anything.

… He had a great sense of humor. He could be a caustic guy. He could also be very hard on the students, even nasty to them. I remember him in a class when he was chewing out a young lady saying, “You know, dear, they are looking for burger flippers at McDonalds. Maybe you could find a career there.” Underneath that, he could be a pussycat. He could be so nice and embracing if he liked you.

Steven Doane (page 47):

I played to Starker for three weeks in the classes, and that was a searing but valuable experience.

Gary Hoffman studied with Mr. Starker and was his assistant for several years (page 153):

When I started studying with Mr. Starker, I started to lose a lot of what was natural for to me, because I became very conscious of everything.

I remember my parents being a bit worried, because I started to lose things that were just me. I remember in my second year as a student, I won the concerto competition playing the Elgar Concerto. When I listened to a recording of the performance, I was shocked. I didn’t realize how I had actually come to sound like him. That wasn’t my or his intention, but happened because of the strength of his personality and all the things that I was being conscious about at the time.

Gary Hoffman (page 154):

I owe Mr. Starker the largest debt of gratitude that one can have for somebody, because I’ve always felt that there is and maybe never will be anybody who brought the teaching of the cello to that level.

…[Mr. Starker] ended up accepting students that he knew that he couldn’t have time for right away. He sent them to Gary Hoffman, and eventually maybe they would go to him. That’s normal — but in that way, I was still a little bit like his assistant …but I wasn’t his assistant…. He would take more students that he could handle, and some of those people were not always happy.

Gary Hoffman (page 167):

You know, with Starker, he could explain everything to me. That’s why I considered him supreme. because he knew everything, and understood everything, and could articulate it. It’s just absolute complete knowledge, and that was unique, really. I have never seen anybody else like that.

Helga Winold spoke about being Mr. Starker’s assistant at the same time as Gary Hoffman (page 294):

I was both Starker’s student and did a lot of his teaching as his assistant while I was getting my doctorate, because he was gone so much. This was at the high point of his career, so basically, he would be gone for three weeks, appear, be there for two or three days, and be gone again. He could be rather hard on his students, especially back then. He would tell you everything you were doing wrong, rightfully so, but he wouldn’t remember what he said at the last lesson, because three weeks would pass in between.

In the meantime, you would work your tail off fixing what he had told you to do, and then he would never mention it again. He wanted his students to be good, but was less interested in how they became good. He showed students how he played, and then expected them to play better after he’d shown them what he did. It seemed he was asking, ‘I showed you, so why aren’t you that good?’

Helga Winold continued (page 295):

Starker didn’t have much patience. You were supposed to bring in new pieces all the time. He was not happy hearing something he had heard before. It was not very easy to do, and I think we would have learned more if he could have followed up on some of the things we played only once.

Mr. Starker’s intonation was famously excellent. Helga Winold made the following comments (page 295):

I always swore there were magnets on his fingerboard and in his fingertips, because he just never played out of tune. I don’t know anyone else that can do that, it’s just absolutely miraculous.

At Indiana University, where János Starker, Gary Hoffman, and Helgo Wingold taught, the Music Education majors were often treated less respectfully by the professors, including Starker, than the Music Performance majors. Helga Wingold had this say (page 300):

Not all of the … teachers took Ed. students. … There will still violinists that said they wouldn’t even look at one. … I don’t think Starker ever took an Ed. student. He would listen to them from time to time, but he wouldn’t take them in his class. I was always happy to do so because those are the students that will inspire young players and help educate future audiences for all of us.

Tim Janof

Tim Janof of the Internet Cello Society interviewed János Starker twice: Conversation with János Starker (1996) and Conversation with János Starker (2004). In the first conversation, Tim Janof asked Mr. Starker about Jacqueline du Pré:

TJ: What do you think of Jacqueline du Pré? She was known for her passionate performances?

JS: She was an incredibly gifted cellist and a beautiful artist, but I believe she accelerated her own destruction because she expended so much energy in her performances. I publicly stated long before she got sick that a human being’s body cannot take what she did to it. I worry that young people will try to emulate this external aspect of her playing, instead of striving for her deep musicianship. I grieve for her because she was a valuable human being and a great musician.

I find Mr. Starker’s answer shockingly insensitive and ignorant.

Samuel and Sada Applebaum

The Internet Cello Society website contains another article, János Starker: An Appreciation and Interview, by Samuel and Sada Applebaum, with some stories about Mr. Starker very early in his career. The authors quote a testy Mr. Starker:

“What is confusing for the audience…is when somebody comes on stage and seemingly gives his everything by throwing himself around. An awful lot of people adore it and get carried away…It has nothing to do with music but those people get what they came for, entertainment. It’s a pity they don’t know how to distinguish between entertainment and art.”

John Cloer

John Cloer in 2008 wrote a long article, also for the Internet Cello Society, János Starker: One Student’s Reflections, which gives a flavor of Mr. Starker’s personality and style:

After [a masterclass], I and at least a dozen others followed Starker back to his studio where he proceeded to schedule lessons for the next week. After everyone had left, Starker turned to me and, in words that due to his inimitably precise and calculated brevity are still imprinted on my brain, he said, “Look. You obviously feel the music and you have good hands but you are basically fighting the instrument. It is the type of playing I detest because it is so unnecessary. You are accepted to study at Indiana but you would be better off if you went some place where they would make you feel good about yourself. Here you will have to start over with the basics — from scratch. I should tell you though, if you do not start over, you will never know what you don’t know. You will also never be successful. Do you have any questions?” Even though my head was awash with questions from the class, my embarrassment at my ignorance and the shock of his words effectively rendered me speechless and I simply shook my head negatively. He then said, “No? Then good-bye and good luck.”

Over the next two years, John Cloer had a harrowing but ultimately rewarding experience with Mr. Starker. This article is well worth reading.

Florian Riem

In 2024 Florian Riem wrote a short biography, János Starker at 100: Remembering a great Cellist, for the World Federation of International Music Competitions. Riem tells many stories, including this one:

I remained in Starker’s class for two years, and I won’t ever forget this time. Every lesson was special. Every lesson, you had to prepare a new piece — you could never play the same thing twice. Starker’s studio, the famous MA 155, was a small yet beautiful room, with lots of old photographs of famous cellists on the wall, and a little podium for the student. When you played, there was not only János Starker across from you, but also other students, colleagues, or other teachers. Lessons were never private — there was always someone listening — and this was Starker’s philosophy: everyone should learn from everyone.

Playing in front of your classmates was never easy, and one of Starker’s famous comments was always:

“Your colleagues are not laughing at you. They are just relieved that they are not you.”

Emilio Colón

Emilio Colón, now Professor of Cello at the Jacobs School of Music at Indiana University, tells a story on Joel Dallow’s The Cello Sherpa Podcast, episode of June 27, 2025, about his love-hate relationship with Janós Starker. Mr. Starker threw Emilio out of his studio on his first lesson before he played a note because he thought Emilio, coming from Puerto Rico, would not be able to dedicate himself sufficiently to studying the cello. The two had a stormy relationship, but a few years later Mr. Starker invited Emilio to join the cello faculty at Indiana University. Emilio tells a second, very funny, story about Mr. Starker that is best heard.

CelloBello

The CelloBello website has a page dedicated to János Starker that provides essays and links to interviews and performances.

János Starker’s Joke About Himself

Mr. Starker liked to tell a joke about himself, and he included the joke in his autobiography; I quoted it in my notes about his autobiography.

Stephen Geber tells a better version of this joke on page 109 of Anthony Arnone’s The Art of Listening.

There were three cellists that died all at the same time. One by one they went up into heaven and went to the gates of St. Peter. St. Peter was there to greet them. He opened the gate for the first cellist and said, “What did you do back on Earth?” The cellist replied, “Well, I was a cellist.” St. Peter asks, “With whom did you study?” The cellist responded, “I studied with Leonard Rose.” Immediately, St. Peter slammed the gate. The next cellist comes up, and St. Peter asks, “Well, what did you do?” The second cellist answers, “Well, I was a cellist, a well-known cellist.” Again, St. Peter asks, “Who was your teacher there?” The cellist tells him, “Rostropovich.” Immediately the gate slams. St. Peter opens the gate again, and the third cellist steps up. St. Peter asks, “Now, what did you do?” He answers, “I was a very well-known cellist.” “With whom did you study?” St. Peter asks. He answers, “I studied with János Starker.” The gate opens, the lights shine, the trumpets are blaring. He says to the cellist, “Come on in, you’ve already been through Hell.”

A third version of this joke is included in Sara Wittmeyer’s Remembering János Starker, The Cellist ‘Born To Be A Teacher’, written for Aspen Public Radio.

And Florian Riem tells the same joke in János Starker at 100: Remembering a great Cellist.