musical

Michael Tilson Thomas came onto the scene as a great hope for classical music, American music, Los Angeles music, modern music, multifaceted pop music, maverick music, Russian music, Broadway music and just plain music, whatever it might be and from wherever it might be found. He lived his 81 years as conductor, pianist, composer, educator and media personality promoting that hope, and died Wednesday having shown how hope is done. He looked ahead. He looked back. Yet he lived for the now.

It wasn’t always easy. He wasn’t, to say the least, always easy. But MTT made music matter by making hope matter. He was, moreover, one of us. He achieved greatness though an epic amplification of a uniquely L.A. positivity in which grumpy became wistful.

I first encountered MTT as a kid clarinetist and he, Michael Thomas back then, a student conductor at USC and already, at 19, music director of the Young Musicians Foundation Debut Orchestra. He was soon everywhere. A piano prodigy, he regularly performed (and hobnobbed) with the likes of Stravinsky, Copland, Boulez and Cage at Monday Evening Concerts programs when the Los Angeles County Museum of Art opened in 1965. That summer, he appeared at the Ojai Music Festival, which he would go on to lead as music director seven times.

MTT liked to describe his L.A. youth as driving from Jascha Heifetz’s house in the Hollywood Hills (where he accompanied the famed Russian violinist in classes) to LACMA to rehearse Ives and Renaissance music, to composition and conducting classes at USC. Then it was home to the San Fernando Valley to practice Beethoven.

All the while, he listened to the hip L.A. 1960s pop music stations on his car radio. He was particularly keen on, and became friends with, Chuck Berry. Home was where he would also encounter screen legends. Tilson Thomas’ father worked in films and television as a screenwriter, producer and dialogue coach. Theodor Thomas was, as well, a painter with a visionary sensibility and a pianist, self-taught other than a handful of lessons from Gershwin.

But it was Tilson Thomas’ mother and grandmother who may have had the biggest influence. His mother was a public school teacher. She instilled what became a key trait in her only child, who treated conducting as an exercise in learning both for the musicians and the audience (if not for him, because he basically knew it all). His grandmother, Bessie Thomashefsky and her husband, Boris, were stars of Yiddish theater on New York’s Lower East Side.

Boris died in 1939, five years before MTT was born. But Bessie and young Michael were close. She recognized that, like her, he was born for the stage, and regaled him with stage lore that put the stardust in his eyes. As a young kid, MTT played Beethoven piano sonatas so impressively that he wowed his babysitter, an architecture student at USC named Frank Owen Goldberg, who needed extra cash.

Frank Gehry, as he became, told me that MTT was already an entrancing showman. The two remained lifelong friends.

While MTT did not actually reside in L.A. for most of his life, he never really left it. It prepared him for all that was to follow. In high school, he met Joshua Robison, who became his lifelong partner and ultimately husband. Whether in New York, Miami, London or San Francisco, wherever they lived, they always talked about L.A. His father’s paintings were on the walls, as were Boris’ Yiddish theater posters, one proclaiming “King Lear,” translated and improved.

The Tilson Thomas package that emerged from L.A. was unlike any conductor the world had seen. He doted on the music of Rachmaninoff when Rachmaninoff was unfashionable and on Steve Reich when Reich was found unfathomable. He adopted classical music’s neglected outsiders and especially such key West Coast “mavericks” as Lou Harrison and Henry Cowell. He convinced Meredith Monk to write for orchestra and enticed everyone from Sarah Vaughan to the Mahavishnu Orchestra onto the symphony stage.

Studying at Tanglewood, the Boston Symphony’s summer home, MTT won the Koussevitzky Prize in 1969 and, with the encouragement of Leonard Bernstein, was appointed assistant conductor to music director William Steinberg. Before long, MTT became principal guest conductor, filling in frequently for Steinberg, who was in poor health.

MTT in his early 20s was vibrant, arrogant, fearless, full of ideas, a chance taker. Ever the Angeleno, he tooled around town in a Porsche. He talked to staid symphony musicians and audiences who didn’t want to be talked to and often played music they didn’t want to play or hear. And he dazzled them. He got a contract with the distinguished German record label Deutsche Grammophon and made exciting records with the orchestra of Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Ives and modern Americans. They remain a thrill to hear.

By 1974, it was Tchaikovsky one moment and a wonderfully crazy avant-garde opera the next. Stanley Silverman’s “Elephant Steps,” which MTT recorded in 1974, was for pop singers, opera singers, orchestra, rock band, electronic tape, raga group, gypsy ensemble and, of course, elephants. Richard Foreman wrote the libretto. There had been nothing like it then or since. A revival could prove a sensation. The Olympic arts festival, anyone?

At the same time, Tilson Thomas, who proved a born educator, succeeded Bernstein in delivering the New York Philharmonic’s Young People’s Concerts. When Steinberg left, the Boston Symphony Orchestra passed over MTT as too young (24) and not ready (he wasn’t, nor was Boston). He was just right, though, for the Buffalo Philharmonic, which he led from 1971 to 1979. It was a wild ride, with lots of exciting new music and no small amount of controversy — arresting performances of arresting new works (Morton Feldman in particular) and an actual arrest at Kennedy International Airport when small quantities of cocaine, marijuana and amphetamines were found in his luggage.

He may have seemed ready for a homecoming in 1981, but MTT’s appointment as principal guest conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic did not prove to be the return of the prodigal son. These were the years of Carlo Maria Giulini’s music directorship, and MTT brought currency — new music, Gershwin, flashy showstoppers. Much of it was a breath of freshest air, but he was also remembered for his brash youth, which was now a brash 30s. He ran afoul of some in the orchestra and of its imperious head, Ernest Fleischmann.

Having been branded the next Bernstein, MTT floundered. What he needed was not L.A., but a far distant remove to find himself. That happened in two parts.

In 1987, the educator in him led to his greatest project, the creation of the New World Symphony in Miami Beach, Florida. The training orchestra guides young musicians with conservatory backgrounds into the world of professional orchestras.

Around the same time, Bernstein talked the London Symphony Orchestra into hiring Tilson Thomas as music director. Far from L.A., Boston and New York, a newly mature MTT found his bearings, no longer the next Leonard Bernstein but the first and only Michael Tilson Thomas.

Miami gave MTT meaning, and he commissioned Frank Gehry to design a revolutionary concert hall and teaching facility. In London, his conducting took on depth without losing its surface glamour. What MTT still lacked, however, was a creative outlook. He had always thought himself a composer and could, at a party, make up a clever song at the piano on the spot. He had drawers full of sketches but little finished work.

It took a return to the West Coast for MTT, having turned 50, to put all of his musical, emotional, personal and spiritual parts together and achieve greatness. For 25 years as music director of the San Francisco Symphony, MTT conducted Mahler and Tchaikovsky with a depth of soul that integrated his Russian roots and Bernsteinian character. He advocated for mavericks in summer festivals. He found his voice as a composer. He and Robison were embraced as a beloved San Francisco couple. He alchemized the San Francisco Symphony into a Bay Area beacon.

In the challenging last chapter of his life, MTT turned tragedy into triumph to became a universal inspiration. The lockdown in June 2020 meant cancellation of his farewell concerts as music director, including a production of Wagner’s “The Flying Dutchman” with a set by Gehry. The following summer, MTT fell on stage while conducting the London Symphony in Santa Barbara. He was diagnosed with late-stage glioblastoma. He likely had less than a year to live.

Remarkably, MTT continued to conduct until last April. His appearances with the L.A. Phil and the San Francisco Symphony were transformative. He guest conducted in New York, London, Prague and elsewhere. In L.A., a dying MTT led a profound performance of Mahler’s death-obsessed Ninth Symphony, not as a farewell but as a shamanistic savoring of every moment of life. He asked not for sympathy but for joy.

For MTT, the music never stopped. In his later years, he advanced the theory that what you took away from hearing a performance mattered as much, if not more, than what you experienced. That may explain why this creature of the theater who was so graceful leading an orchestra and so enjoyed talking to the audience turned stiff and awkward when bowing to acknowledged applause. Was it his reluctance to leave? Insecurity? Attempt to remove his ego from the experience, as if he was now handing the music over to you?

It was probably all of those things. During his illness, when his movement became more difficult, he let go. He was simply happy to be there, happy to share music, happy to be alive, very happy to be loved. His final bows were a celebration of life.

Sadly, Robison died Feb. 22, exactly two months before MTT, who died four days short of a year since his final concert with the San Francisco Symphony. But he lives on through about 150 recordings and his website.

He and Robison worked as tirelessly throughout his illness to archive his life. His website provides a treasure trove of compelling radio and television programs, his copious Thomashefsky Yiddish theater archive, a vast legacy of searching and believing. And hope.

History textbooks often include the story of the Underground Railroad, an organized network of secret routes, places and people that guided enslaved populations from the South to abolitionist Northern states.

However, less is known about the underground railroad that ran southbound to Mexico. But one live-looped musical is unearthing that hidden history, one beat at a time.

Co-created and performed by Brian Quijada and Nygel D. Robinson, “Mexodus” tells the fictional story of Henry, who evades his capture by fleeing Texas across the Rio Grande. After a near fatality, he is saved by Carlos, a farmer and former combat medic battling his own trauma from the Mexican-American War. Together they form solidarity, despite social, racial and political strains plaguing both sides of the border.

Following its off-Broadway run at the Daryl Roth Theatre in New York City, the hip-hop and bolero-infused musical directed by David Mendizábal will open at the Pasadena Playhouse stage July 8 and run until Aug. 2. But for history buffs and musical enthusiasts alike, a sonically richer version filled with sound effects of the musical airs exclusively on Audible today, April 16.

The idea for “Mexodus” first came to Brian Quijada — playwright, actor and composer behind “Where Did We Sit on the Bus?,” “Kid Prince and Pablo” and “Somewhere Over the Border” — when reading a 2018 article on History.com about the estimated 5,000 to 10,000 enslaved individuals that escaped the American South for freedom in Mexico, though some researchers estimate that number to be higher.

“My parents crossed the border undocumented in the late 1970s, so I think I’ve always been fascinated with writing immigration stories,” Quijada said. “The reason that this story attracted me was because it’s like a reverse border story, but I also knew that it wasn’t my story to tell so I sat on it for a long time.”

Quijada bookmarked the article until he met Robinson — a performer at Berkeley Rep, Baltimore Center Stage, Shakespeare Theater Company, Mosaic Theater and writer and composer of “Santa Claus Is Comin’: A Motown Christmas Revue” and “R&J: Fire on the Bayou” — at an actor-musician conference weeks before the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. They were the only actors-musicians of color in the room, listening in on conversations about how one should audition for musicals like “Once,” “Million Dollar Quartet,” which typically center white storylines.

“We kind of looked at each other and we’re like, ‘we don’t really belong here,’” said Quijada, who invited Robinson to take part in “Mexodus” during the pandemic shutdown. The first iteration of the project was as a mixtape.

The musical edge of “Mexodus” hinges on live looping, a recording and playback technique where a sound is repeated and then layered (think Justin Bieber’s solo performance of “Yukon” at the 2026 Grammy Awards). Physically, both Quijada and Robinson’s characters have to pick up a guitar, record it, then play the drum set and run to the bass. “ It’s pretty labor-intensive,” Quijada said.

“I think Brian and I are artists in this way, like various people of color, where it’s like, no one else is gonna do it for me, so I can do it all by myself,” Robinson said.

There’s also a more dramaturgical, meta reason for the loop, which follows a four chord structure throughout the piece, set in both 1851 and present day.

“The looping shows you that there’s not much difference between 1851 and 2026,” Robinson said. “We just keep finding ourselves in a loop and like maybe a sound is in that wasn’t there before. Maybe another sound is added, but it’s still the same four chord structure that has been happening in this country for all existence.”

In 2010, the U.S. National Park Service outlined a possible runaway route stretching on the Camino Real de la Tejas between Natchitoches, La., to Monclova, Mexico. Still, it is unclear how organized the underground railroad heading to Mexico truly was, the Associated Press reported in 2020, with archives destroyed in a fire and sites along the path abandoned.

In 2024 the Jackson Ranch Church and Martin Jackson Cemetery in San Juan, Texas — which are part of a ranch owned by interracial couple Nathaniel Jackson and Matilda Hicks — were recognized by the U.S. National Park Service for serving as a gateway to freedom in Mexico.

Other Texas couples alongside the border— including interracial abolitionist couple Ferdinand Webber and Silvia Hector — aided enslaved people in their pursuits to reach Mexico, which had abolished slavery in 1829, while Texas was still part of the country.

Fears surrounding the Mexican government’s attempts to abolish slavery led to the formation of the Republic of Texas in 1836 and its eventual annexation to the United States by 1845; records also show that American slave owners would head down to Mexico to kidnap formerly enslaved individuals, according to USC historian Alice Baumgartner, who wrote about it in her 2020 book “South to Freedom: Runaway Slaves to Mexico and the Road to the Civil War.”

A database by the Texas Runaway Slave Project, which found listings for 2,500 runaways across various Texas newspapers from the 1840s through the 1860s, also documents the frequented journey to Mexico.

Slavery in the U.S. wouldn’t be officially abolished until 1865 with the ratification of the 13th Amendment to the Constitution.

“I was also really intimidated by the amount of research that I would have to do to write this piece because at the time back [between 2017 and 2020], [researchers] were just beginning to uncover a lot of this,” Quijada said.

Themes of racism — including anti-Blackness in the Latino community — oppression and resistance are woven throughout “Mexodus,” which since its debut in 2023 at the Baltimore Center Stage/Mosaic Theater Company in Washington, D.C., has been making viewers aware of the little-known history.

Robinson recalled how one Black woman came up to him after the show to let him know she believed in Trump’s border wall.

“I got nervous, but she was like, ‘after seeing this, I’m realizing that there’s something trying to convince me of that.’ And I’m like, yes!” said Robinson. “I’m like, this is good. This is good. We started you somewhere. Wow.”

The pair hope that amid all the dark news circulating around the world — and the traumatic, historical themes interlaced in “Mexodus” — the existence of this piece of art can be a glimmer of hope and joy for the future of both Black and brown communities.

“ I need you all to see the truth, but we’re gonna try and dance anyway,” Robinson said.