In classical music performance, the tension between tradition and personal interpretation is ever-present. As performers, we often grapple with the legacies of past masters, whose recordings and teachings shape our understanding of repertoire. Yet, the ultimate goal of musical artistry is not replication but interpretation—bringing one's own voice to the conversation that spans centuries of music-making.

A recent moment with one of my cello students crystallized this concept for me. The student eagerly shared a recording of Hindemith's Solo Cello Sonata. As I listened, I asked, "Is that Starker?" The student replied that it was, in fact, a recording by a well-known contemporary cellist (won't mention the name here). To my ear, however, it was nearly indistinguishable from Starker's famed interpretation. The tone, pacing, articulations, and phrasings mirrored Starker’s approach so precisely that I could not help but reflect: Why copy every detail of someone else’s recording?

There is, of course, a place for homage. A performer may deeply admire a particular interpretation, even consider it the pinnacle realization of a work. Early in our musical development, imitation is a vital tool. We learn phrasing, tone production, articulation, and style through absorbing and emulating the performances of masters. Yet, as we mature, we are called to move beyond imitation. An interpretation that merely replicates a famous recording, no matter how refined, ultimately limits both performer and audience. We risk reducing our role to that of a cover artist with no distinct artistic identity.

I have often considered the classical musician's position analogous to that of a cover artist in popular music. Most classical musicians are interpreters rather than composers. I happen to be a composer as well, but most of us perform works written by others, and our contribution lies in the choices we make in bringing those compositions to life. Just as a great cover song breathes new life into familiar material, our interpretations should offer fresh perspectives.

Consider, for example, The Offspring’s cover of Queen’s “Stone Cold Crazy.” I was struck by how compelling their rendition was, not because they copied Queen note for note, but because they brought their voice to the song. It sounded unmistakably like The Offspring. Similarly, Whitney Houston’s legendary cover of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You” did not seek to mimic Parton’s original. Houston infused the song with her distinctive style and emotional depth, resulting in a version that became iconic in its own right.

Classical music is no different. Sound and interpretation evolve, and that is not only acceptable but desirable. No single interpretation can claim final authority over a composition. Instead, each generation—and each performer—offers a new lens through which to experience a work. Some pieces will resonate deeply with us, fitting naturally within our artistic sensibilities. Others may not align as comfortably, and that, too, is perfectly fine. Not every composition is meant to be championed by every performer.

One of the reasons I am passionate about research-based performance is precisely because of this interpretive freedom. Many of the works I present have no prior recordings. Approaching such pieces feels like standing before a clean slate. I have the opportunity to give the composer a voice, informed by historical context, stylistic understanding, and my artistic intuition. Without the weight of iconic recordings hovering over me, I can shape an interpretation that is both informed and uniquely mine.

It is crucial for musicians to consciously cultivate their voice. This does not mean discarding tradition or ignoring historical practices, but rather engaging with them thoughtfully and selectively. Our artistry flourishes when we synthesize what we have learned with our musical instincts. By doing so, we contribute to the living tradition of classical music, ensuring that it remains dynamic and relevant.

In short, while we begin as imitators, our goal should be to emerge as interpreters. Let us respect and learn from the great recordings, but not become bound by them. Our audiences deserve to hear our Hindemith, our Bach, our Dvořák—not mere echoes of someone else’s voice. The beauty of interpretation lies in the multiplicity of perspectives, each one offering a different glimpse into the music we love. As performers, we honor composers and audiences alike when we bring our voice, thoughtfully and authentically, to every piece we play.