The Ever-Curious Cellist

By DAVID MERMELSTEIN

Vail, Colo.

Perhaps someone somewhere is not Yo-Yo Ma's friend. But the more time one spends with him, the more remote that possibility seems. Last month, after his cello recital at this resort town's scenic Gerald R. Ford Amphitheater, Mr. Ma demonstrated his gift for being all things to all people by lowering himself nearly to the ground to chat with an extroverted toddler and, much later that night, by gratifying an intoxicated fan's wish for an autograph at an hour when Mr. Ma should have been in bed. But he was chipper as ever the following morning, co-hosting a free event promoting music appreciation among the young.

Zina Saunders

Yo-Yo Ma

If Mr. Ma, a youthful age 54, has flaws beyond his gently receding hairline, they remain well hidden. Indeed, this Paris-born, Harvard-educated musician may be the most venerated performing artist today. Which is not at all surprising given his warm personality and peerless musicianship, distinguished by poise, technical prowess and tonal luster.

Those qualities will doubtless be displayed on Sunday, when Mr. Ma returns to the Tanglewood Music Center in Massachusetts's Berkshire Mountains for a performance of Edward Elgar's Cello Concerto with the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Charles Dutoit. He then reappears at Tanglewood on Aug. 8 with the Silk Road Ensemble, with whom he has explored music's multicultural intersections since 2000.

"You spend years trying to learn how to communicate that this sound is reflective of that thought, but then there's the question of how it's received," Mr. Ma said, sitting in his alpine-decorated hotel suite two days before his performance here. "My job as a performer is to make something memorable. If I do something nice but forgettable, it needn't have happened. But if it sinks inside someone else's brain and then they make connections, that's something worth doing, because you're going to intimate places in someone else's psyche. I spend a lot of time thinking about what is the magical mix that can make the thing I love to do be so wonderful for others."

Mr. Ma achieved renown early—as a boy, he played for President Kennedy—and professional success has never abated since his career began in the mid-1970s. Yet despite the cello's limited repertory compared with that of the piano and the violin, Mr. Ma's interpretations of the classics remain vibrant, something he attributes, paradoxically, to their familiarity. "I think anybody who goes away finds you appreciate home more when you return," he said. "In that sense, what I learned between 12 and 20 is my musical home—you receive all that music at a time when you're really open. So when I go away from it and then come back, it really is like coming home. That's why I never get tired of playing Dvorak."

These days the cellist is known nearly as much for his work outside the classical box. He has devoted considerable attention not only to Silk Road—which takes its name and primary focus from the ancient Asian trade route—but also to American roots music, various forms of Brazilian music, and Argentine tango. "You go through phases," Mr. Ma said, explaining his decision to explore material beyond standard fare. "You have to reinvent reasons for playing, and one year's answer might not do for another."

He amplifies this theme of change by mentioning his wife's fall from a cliff while they were on safari in South Africa last year. "I am a different person since then," Mr. Ma said. "I'm just so unbelievably grateful that she's here, that we still have a life together. It affects everything—the way I live, the way I play. There are moments when the answers about who you are and what you're doing can change suddenly. Even if we don't like change, we change anyway. There's no real stasis. So the question is how do you change?"

The cellist attributes a surprising benefit to the near-tragedy: "I'm not as tense now," he said, acknowledging a longstanding goal. "With every year of playing, you want to relax one more muscle. Why? Because the more tense you are, the less you can hear. So the more you can collect that energy and be unblocked and be totally present, the more you can say, 'I'm here because I really want to be; there's no other place I'd rather be.' And if you really mean it, that's not bad."

A longstanding commitment to new music also helps keep things fresh. The recital in Vail included Graham Fitkin's "L," a short work for cello and piano written for Mr. Ma's 50th birthday. There have also been new concertos, including Osvaldo Golijov's "Azul," a regular part of the cellist's repertory since he gave its premiere in 2006. Angel Lam wrote a concerto for Mr. Ma and the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra last year, and Silk Road collaborator Dmitri Yanov-Yanovsky composed one this year, on behalf of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. John Adams, too, has promised a score down the line. The net effect, while gratifying, can be overwhelming. "I love to play them," Mr. Ma said of the scores commissioned for him. "But if I do one, then I can't play another. There's only so much time—and it just somehow escalates."

While all this adulation might get the better of someone else, Mr. Ma is—to use the common parlance—too grounded for ego flights. "I just don't think that way," he said. "People will ask, 'Are you famous?' And I always answer, 'My mother thinks so.'" Besides, even exceptionally talented artists need to practice and grow. "I may be playing the same pieces, but the way I'm thinking about them is different. In my 40s, I was exploring what else is going on in the neighborhood. In my 50s, I'm more interested in how young people think. Plus I'm trying to play the cello as well as I can. Between the measurable and the immeasurable things, that's where I live."

Mr. Mermelstein writes for the Journal on classical music and film.