That absurd stereotype is all the more remarkable considering how much has changed in the classical music world since Mr. Kim left Korea at the age of 12 to study at the Curtis Institute of Music, the elite Philadelphia conservatory. Back in 1961, there were only a handful of Asian students at Curtis and the Juilliard School, and Western classical music was just beginning to attract a broader following in the Far East.

Today, students of Asian descent average about 36% of the undergraduates at both Curtis and Julliard, and they make up nearly 70% of the enrollment in Juilliard's pre-college division. At the same time, individuals such as the Japanese conductor Seiji Ozawa, the Chinese-American cellist Yo-Yo Ma, the Japanese pianist Mitsuko Uchida, the Korean violinist Kyung-Wha Chung, the Japanese violinist Midori, the Chinese violinist Cho-Liang Lin and Mr. Kim enjoy international careers. The number of orchestras in Korea and Hong Kong has more than tripled during the past two decades, and several of the 11 orchestras based in Tokyo are considered world-class.

These developments have occurred against a backdrop of Japan's world-wide economic ascendancy and Korea's growing competitive prowess in selected world markets. And the classical-music world, which prides itself on being colorblind is no less immune to resentment and anxiety than, say, auto workers in Detroit or executives in the electronics industry.

"There's a sense," observes one young musician, "that it's harder for an American to get into the major conservatories and orchestras because the Asian competition is so stiff."

But while some students ruefully refer to Juilliard as "Korea-yard," others believe that the school's increasing Asian enrollment has had a positive impact. "it makes us all more aware," says 22-year-old Brian Lewis, a violin major from Kansas who studies with the very influential Dorothy DeLay, "of the work ethic, which used to be a strong part of the American way. We've gotten a little lackadaisical."

Another manifestation of "us" vs. "them" attitudes is the tendency of some Americans to mentally lump all Asians together. At Juilliard, for example, about 10% of the "Asian" undergraduates are American citizens of Asian descent.

But the most controversial racial stereotype Asian players must deal with is that they are "robots" -- all technical precision and no soul. One look at the list of leading Asian artists notes above easily disproves that. Contrast the silvery elegance of Cho-Liang Lin, for example, with the richly hued playing of Mr. Kim or the impassioned expressivity favored by Mr. Ma and Ms. Chung. Meanwhile, there are plenty of mindless technicians of other races boring audiences from Rome to Seoul.

Yet Mr. Kim and a sampling of Asian students at Juilliard maintain that teaching methods and cultural attitudes in the Far East do discourage the interpretive individuality that separates great artists from proficient performers. "For a lot of Orientals," says Mr. Kim, "to express everything you feel is considered vulgar ... You're not supposed to show confidence because that implies arrogance. Of course," he adds with a grin, "that's changing now. I see lots of pompous asses in Korea and Japan."

Akira Eguchi, a graduate student at Juilliard who was among the three winners -- all Asian -- of last year's Gina Bachauer International Piano Competition, says that in Japan, individuality is not admired. "To be a usual person," he explains, "is considered a good personality."

Furthermore, the respect accorded teachers in Asian makes it difficult for students to question their music instructors. If he disagreed with his former Japanese teacher about tempo, for example, Mr. Eguchi might say, "Is it possible to play in this tempo? I understand you have the right expression about this piece, but I really would like to play it this way." A comparably advanced American student might just say, "I hear it differently."

Such cultural differences mean that most Asian musicians undergo a period of musical and cultural adjustment when they arrive in the U.S., particularly those who come at the age of 18 or older. "In Japan," says the 27-year-old Mr. Eguchi, who arrived here two years ago, "the teachers basically emphasize technique first ... Personally, I like the American way. I can feel more freedom about the music."

For some Asian-Americans, Juilliard and Curtis can be liberating in other ways. "I grew up in a small, predominantly white community in Illinois," recalls violinist Benny Kim, a recent Juilliard graduate who has appeared with the Chicago Symphony and the Buffalo Philharmonic, "where slurs about slant eyes and Japs were not uncommon. When I arrived at Juilliard, I realized no one was paying attention to my race."

Indeed, the top American conservatories have always been international in character. For that reason, Joseph Polisi, the president of the Juilliard School, looks at the so-called Asian phenomenon from the broader perspective of the history of performing musicians in the U.S. -- successive immigrant groups who enriched our nation with their achievements and were assimilated into society. In his view, a far more important issue confronting the most prestigious American conservatories is whether or not they can maintain a strong faculty and financial base if Tokyo replaces New York as the economic capital of the world.

"Music schools and cultural institutions," he notes, "tend to occur in prosperous environments. Down the line, it's logical that our Asian students will return to their native countries, enrich their own music environment, and in 20 to 30 years, the most coveted international conservatories may well be in Seoul and Tokyo."

Or, as young Mr. Lewis perceptively puts it, "If we want to keep Americans represented in the leading music schools, we should look to the deficiencies in our early music education system rather than blame other groups."