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<UID>
9401180717
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
940522
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, May 22, 1994
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1F
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<ILLUSTRATION>

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<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

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<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1994, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
EVEN STREISAND NEEDED THIS TEACHER
</HEADLINE>
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<BODY>
He almost always has a cigarette in his mouth, if not that, a sucking
candy, and he walks around the room blowing smoke or making tongue-clucking
sounds and listening, always listening, because  that is what a good teacher
does. Listens. Now and then, he'll interrupt with a correction, or write
something down, maybe show you how to play it. He makes it seem simple, and
when you get frustrated,  he'll blow a cloud of smoke, grin and say, "Relax.
It takes two or three weeks to become a jazz musician."

  Matt Michaels is a piano teacher, the best I've ever met, and I've met
quite a few. He  has a gray beard and glasses and he's lived here all of his
61 years and he plays in clubs and oversees classes in everything from combos
to orchestras as director of Jazz Studies at Wayne State. But  in the hours
before and after, he does what he does best, he teaches, one on one, in his
small, cramped office or a piano room of a suburban high school.

  Weekdays. Saturday afternoons. Students  coming in late, students going
out. It is not glamorous. 
  It is not, say, Barbra Streisand.
  But once it was.
The prodigy in Detroit 
  Back when Streisand was a young, unknown nightclub  singer, she came to
Detroit to play the Caucus Club. Michaels was the house pianist.
  He was a pro, so he didn't appreciate when the 18-year-old Streisand
showed up late for gigs. The club owner  kept booking her, however, and part
of Michaels' job was to work with her. He didn't get paid for this. He did it
anyhow. Week after week, month after month, giving her a repertoire, teaching
her to sing in time. He got her work doing commercials. He wrote arrangements
for songs. One of these, she took to New York and used on "The Tonight Show,"
one of her early breaks. 
  Although Michaels wasn't  fond of Streisand's aggressive manner -- when
someone offered to buy her a drink, she'd say, "No, but you can buy me a meal"
-- he recognized her talent, and knew he was helping to develop something
special. Maybe, in his heart, he felt when the world embraced her, he'd be
embraced, too.
  Instead, after nine months, Streisand left Detroit for Broadway, took all
of Michaels' arrangements, music  charts, imparted knowledge.
  And never spoke to him again.
  The years passed. Streisand became the biggest female star in the
business. Michaels stayed in Detroit, played the London Chop House,  the
now-defunct Playboy Club. He worked with artists like Peggy Lee and Joe
Williams, but they always left and he always stayed, playing, teaching. He
came to Wayne State in 1979. Thousands of musicians  have now been influenced
by his guidance. Piano players swear by him. Maybe he could have been famous
in his own right; instead, his passion comes in finding scholarship money for
students.
  And  up to last week, if you asked him about Streisand, how she never even
thanked him, he'd shrug and say, "That's the way she is."
Backstage with Barbra 
  Streisand's current tour is the rage of the  music business, with sellouts
from London to LA. When Detroit was announced as a stop, I asked Michaels if
he planned to see his ex-singer. He said no.
  But last week, some guys in Streisand's  orchestra dropped by Arriva
restaurant in Warren,  where Michaels works on Wednesday nights, and they
said he should come. And the next day, Streisand's personal assistant called,
and said Barbra would  have invited him earlier, but he was "so hard to find."
  Michaels laughs. "I'm in the phone book."
  Tickets were left for Michaels and his wife of 35 years, Kaye. They got
dressed up, and they  went. Streisand announced Matt during the concert, and
when the show ended, he and Kaye were taken backstage to see the star.
  "She hugged me," Michaels says. "She said it was good to see me, and  that
she still uses some of my arrangements. 
  "We only talked for a few minutes. I wanted to talk more, but people kept
interrupting, you know, introducing themselves."
  Michaels, never much  for that, quickly said good night and left. There is
 no jealousy, he says. "I couldn't deal with that kind of life. All I ever
wanted was to make a living, play good music, pass on a few things . . ."
  Streisand's concert features state-of-the-art production, film clips,
Donna Karan dresses, a light show, $20 programs, tickets up to $1,000. It will
gross millions of dollars, spawn an album,  TV specials, you name it.
  Yet as she left the Palace in her limousine Thursday night, and Matt
Michaels went back to his cramped classroom, cigarettes and sucking candies,
it is a toss-up as to  who has done more for the honorable future of music.
  Actually, it's no contest.
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